


Ants in Your Pants

by The_Lowlifes_Back



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lowlifes_Back/pseuds/The_Lowlifes_Back
Summary: ((Butch Deloria/F!Lone Wanderer))In a little house in Megaton, up the hill of steps and to the left, there lives a pair of legends.One of them, The Wanderer, is wandering about...and The Snake…is on his back with a stomach full of Fire Ant Queen Pheromones."It looked like a jar of perfectly preserved jam and it smelled sweet…so sweet."His skin is on fire...his clothes having become almost painful to wear...…and he’s been as hard as a Deathclaw’s hide, for what feels like 3 hours.((I thought after all the serious stuff I've been writing, that everyone could use a laugh and some shameless smut.))





	Ants in Your Pants

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: so…this is smut~ Based on a fanfiction snippet, which I would totally credit if I remembered who wrote it! If that wonderful author does come across this~ Thank you for the idea. Haha. To be clear: The story is all mine, but the inspiration was earned else where. X3 :3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Fallout or its characters... so if you get a BURNING SENSATION in your pants from this story, Bethesda would probably have the copywrite to it...  
> ((I have a perfectly terrible sense of humor...sorry, not sorry. XD))

** Ants in Your Pants **

Fire.

Every inch of him was on fire.

“ _Don’t go into my room when I’m gone. I don’t want your paws all over my stuff, Butch.”_ He’d had his paws on his own **stuff** , for what seemed like hours now.

It looked tasty… he was such an idiot.

It looked like a jar of perfectly preserved jam and it smelled sweet…so sweet.

He’d been hungry…now he was **starving** in humiliatingly obvious ways.

In a little house is Megaton, up the hill of steps and to the left, there lives a pair of legends. A Tunnel Snake and a Lone Wanderer, who have been friends for a very long time…or 2 years at least. They’ve known each other even longer however, all their lives. One of them, The Wanderer, is wandering about the local Swap-Meet and the other? The Snake… is on his back with a stomach full of Fire Ant Queen Pheromones.

His skin is on fire, his clothes having become almost painful to wear and abandoned long ago…and he’s been as hard as a Deathclaw’s hide, for what feels like 3 hours.

He feels like he’s dying from the heat. His sheets sticky with sweat and his own… thank god she’s not home yet. In the Wasteland, it’s fairly difficult to make good tasting things to eat, almost impossible for The Lone Wanderer actually. That’s why he does most of the cooking, it’s a kindness to them both. He’s doing them both a favor, because she may know how to put together complex machinery, or maybe even put a tendon back into place with a scalpel…but her taste buds are _off_.

Or maybe she’s just learned to eat just about anything not to starve out here. Either way, it had looked so good, that he couldn’t pass it up when he saw it…his stomach is what got him into this…oh what a mess it is. It started in the morning. She was about to make a trek over to a local Caravan Swap-Meet, pick them up some supplies. It was just like any other day…

 

…He’s washing the dishes from last night, in an old dusty t-shirt and dark grey sweats, when he hears the creaking of their stairs. He glances behind him, his heart warming at the sight of her face, his words playful, warmer than they ever used to be. “Morning Sunshine~” She’d been the one who drank too much for a change and that morning, she’d yet to go get something to cure her hangover from Doc Church. Fully clothed, his old jacket around her shoulders, her boots already on over her jeans and her expression surly. He’d laughed when she stomped up to him, punched him in the shoulder lightly and talked back. “You laugh anymore, you’ll regret it…ah-ss… this is all on **you** anyway…”

Her head throbbed, as she put her forehead in her palm. He’d been drying a dish, feeling the irony of being the one without the hangover for once, joking with her. “Awe, whatsamatter? Can’t handle a few shots of whiskey, _Nosebleed_? Someone’s getting soft.”

He nudges her with his hip and she presses closer to him, grumbling. “I’m gonna shoot you in the foot… stop talking… asshole…” They’d grown…closer. She didn’t push him off if he was leaning on her anymore. He liked that she’d let him drape himself on her back if she was working on something. In fact, he really liked that.

She’d touch him in little ways, with her knuckles or her palms and she’d let him touch her back, just little pushes or pulls. He used to fight every day to get her to look at him…now she was always watching after him. She always reminded him with her constant bossy presence, that he wasn’t alone outside of 101. They stuck by one another, Tunnel Snakes for life and she was… he loved touching her lately. He liked her touching him too, more than he wanted to think about.

He always had, even if he was bad at admitting it to himself, his pride aching over it a little. He liked sleeping in too late or getting up too early to fix them both breakfast. He liked that she looked at him every day and saw someone, worth keeping around. He liked that she cared too much. He liked this kind of life the two of them were living.

He liked living with her in this scrap metal house and fighting beside her. He liked the fame they had and the caps rolling in without even asking for them. He liked everything about it, the life she gave him out here. He loved quiet mornings like this with her even more though, because then it almost felt like back in the vault…only more like home. She felt like the only family he had left.

She felt like the only person he could care for anymore actually, because of how much she cared about him. He liked the quiet, because she’d always fill it. He like the wounds he’d get sometimes, because she’d always patch ‘em up. He liked the smell of her hair, because it took away from the constant stench the outside air was polluted with. She filled his life with something that wasn’t lonely- and boy was the Wasteland lonely without her…he’d snickered at her, his thoughts drifting off into blankness.

Feeling her leaning on his side, he noticed something that shook him up a bit. She shook him up a bit more than a bit actually. She was always shaking him senseless, whether because she’d caught him off guard in an argument or because she just looked a little bit… fucking beautiful to him wearing his old leather-she shook him to his bones. Her body was against him, more than the normal between them that morning. He loved how intimate it felt… too much, he loved the closeness too much and it rattled his nerves. He’d felt his heart racing a little…it’d been doing that around her a lot lately. He’d felt sorry for her that morning and she’d always irritated him, even though he liked her now…that’s what he told himself.

She just irritated him and rubbed him the wrong way, made him wanna squirm. Only now it wasn’t anger or hate coursing through his blood. Maybe back then, it hadn’t been either of those things and he’d just been too dumb to notice. He just knew he liked the way her shoulder was suddenly pushing into his bicep. She irritated him and made him wanna touch her back, just to return the gesture.

That’s why he had pushed back against her a little…just helping a fellow Tunnel Snake out. He was just trying to make up for always pushing her down- for letting his irritation get out of hand. Snakes were loyal, supportive…like steel. He wasn’t going soft on her, he swore he wasn’t! -he was just being a good partner. They were friends, hell- best friends. Of course he’d give her a shoulder to lean against if she was feeling shitty.

Without her…he’d have given up the name “Tunnel Snakes” a long time ago. What was a Tunnel Snake without a Tunnel? It was them. Two friends, who’d never let the other go. …if she ever tried, he’d follow after her anyway.

He wasn’t himself without her.

So, he’d picked up a clean washcloth off the counter and ran it under the water, teasing her all the while aware of her closeness on a very primal level. “That’s not nice. -And here I thought you were the nicest wet blanket around? Pft…’n why don’t you make me, girl?” He’d wrung it out, staring too hard at his hands, not wanting to look at her too hard. Avoiding the pretty blonde strands, he used to try sticking gum into.

Her hair was soft and she’d been letting him play around with it more.

He’d always… wanted to touch it. Back when they were kids, he liked to pull on it. He couldn’t keep from staring at it…weren’t many blondes in the vault. He used to say it was ugly and yellow, but he’d been lying. He just… hated how much the gold would gleam in it.

In the vault, under the fluorescent lights, she’d always force him to turn his head to stare at her.

Now, things were so different. She took advantage of his barber skills and he could tell, she liked him playing with her hair. Some days, she’d let him brush it out and others, she’d even let him pin it up. He really liked touching it. He liked the way she let him- just let him get too close.

He didn’t know what to do about it, when instead of pulling it, he found the urge to just run his hands through it. The soft way it curled around his fingers, the way her breath would slow, as he was moving around her while he worked? It did something to him that unnerved him. Then again, it was his fault for sitting so close to her.

At that moment, he took a little pride in how much she was leaning against him. She was actually letting him hold her upright. One step to the side and he could let her fall, but…maybe she knew now that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t that morning. He didn’t think she’d ever be this way with him…but now he was all she had.

She was all he had too.

She trusted him and he was proud of himself, for actually being trustworthy. She trusted him with her life and with secrets no one else knew about her. He knew her better than… than anyone else. He knew her…really well actually. The things she liked and the things she didn’t.

She let him into her head, many nights in a row. She’d made him cry once…ok more than once. But the first time, was while she was tearing a bullet out of him, one evening at camp. She’d held him to her chest, as he was begging her to stop, even after she was done saving his life. She was gentle and she was rough with him.

…but that night, they were both just two souls without anyone else…and she cried along with him.

She cried and started telling him stories, to take his mind off the pain. While she stitched him up, the both of them out of Stims or Med-X, she numbed the pain with her voice. He kept fading in and out, as she stroked her hands through his hair, reminding him of his mother. She opened up to him when he didn’t deserve it. She deserved better than what she got from him when they were younger… what’d she’d gotten from the world.

He did too damn it! He was downright awesome, but no one seemed to notice his charming personality- what he could make happen out here! Except her. She noticed him. …or at least he thought she did.

He tried his best to help her out and maybe, that’s all she needed to see. He was noticing her a lot more too, since she started being…sweet to him. He was a lot sweeter than normal and that was really saying something, because he wasn’t fuckin’ _sweet_ to anybody. He was sour and tough, but just something about her, started rubbing off on him. His eyes were always on her and “noticing” wasn’t the word for it, whenever she’d walk by him.

More like panting after her really.

Hungry.

She’d leaned away, grousing over his teasing, having to look up at him. “Guess you rubbed off on me…Jerk… I **will** make you, if you don’t quit it. Don’t tempt me.” She was always smaller than him and that morning, it stuck out to him a lot. Her delicate stature, stuck his heart right into his throat too. She’d always been shorter than him, but in the morning light right then, she was devastatingly small.

After everything they’d gone through together, how the hell could he ignore it?

Drinking with her late last night? Holding her as she cried about her father? She was so…small. She’d cried longer and harder than ever before. Last night, she’d drank too much and he realized he cared too much- that he’d held her too long.

His heart squeezed over it, over keeping her upright today, thinking about last night.

Lately it was dawning on him, that he really was doing his damnedest at keeping her safe. Last night, talking softly to her, as the sun had gone down…being soft on her last night, had showed him something that terrified him. He was borderline sweet on her. He’d grinned at her then, hiding his heart away, shoving the painful revelation far, far back.

Turning toward her, he stuck the rag across her forehead with a smile. Replying with a lighthearted tone, picking on her like always. “Tch, nah…I just switched places with ya.”  He was feeling a rush being so close to her. Just when he thought he had a grip, is when she closed her eyes. She let them flutter closed like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Giving him a look at something he’d have never seen before, as she leaned into his hands.

She was letting her guard down too much around him, looking way too content. His voice came out gruff. “Look atcha…all beat up.” He’d brushed a thumb across one of the light bags under her eyes, before catching himself and turning back to the dishes. Mocking her own words, his voice high, with a poor girly imitation, his hands now off her entirely. _“You drink too much~”_ Ain’t that what you’re always telling me?” He swallowed hard, feeling like his skin was too tight, unsure of what really to say.

So he just stated the obvious. “Tch…guess I’m **your** nurse today.” Her eyes opened and locked with his, as she kept still to keep the cloth on her face. Then…there was a pause in that staring contest, which doesn’t escape either of them. A moment where he could have kissed her…where the thought crossed him. He turns away his eyes instead…his complaining a kind of nervous tick, as he picks up another dish and runs it under the water.” –what you get for taking my liquor without asking me first… little thief-“His face is on fire, as he rolls his eyes at her, threatening her without real intent. “-do it again and see what the ol’ Butch-man’ll do to you, I dare you.”

She’d been quiet, as she’d touched at the cloth on her forehead with her palm. More aware of her than ever, she’d turn to face the sink and pressed against his arm again, sighing. “Oh I’ve had worse, Butch…there’s nothing you could even do to scratch the surface.” He felt her cheek on his shoulder and she said something a few words later…that knocked him off kilter, way worse than it should have. “It’s **all** mine when you think about it…the house, the food, -Everything under the roof…” Then she’d looked to him, her breath hot on his skin. “…you included.” His heart skipped and his mind crapped out on him, the dish in the sink already as clean as it could be.

Just like that, she’d hummed and pushed off him, nudging him with her shoulder. “Hm, just getting you back for all the years of lost lunch rations, _Best Friend_.”

Her words shook him enough, to where he’d almost fumbled and broken the dish in his hand. She knew what she was doing. He turns away, dish left abandoned in the sink and sticks her with a stare, her left palm pressed firmly to the damp rag on her forehead. She’d said it with a breathy sigh. “…Can’t I bully you for a change, Hotshot?” He shook his head, speechless.

Then without thinking, he’d batted her hand away and turned the rag over across her brow. That morning felt so… safe to him. He’d felt… his voice was rough and his face, was probably covered by how much he was effected by her… **bullying** him. “N-nope… that’s not you- not even if you tried…ain’t gonna happen…” Grumbling at him, she brushed a hand down his bare arm and damn near made him jump. “…Let’s switch places…see how _you_ like getting pushed around?” He thought he was imagining it, but her affection… she didn’t mean anything by it. That’s what he told himself.

He couldn’t wipe the dumb look off his face, or hide that he liked her touching him. He’d said it in a rush, feeling completely dumb. “See how I-? Ha! -You’re **always** pushing me around- don’t act like you don’t! Little…bossy…oh I’m crying! Thought of **you,** pushing _me_ around’s just that funny!” Her smile was so coy and fearless. “…it’d make anyone wanna cry… being stuck with a guy like YOU.” Her touch gave him goosebumps, embarrassingly obvious. She’d been flirting back at him lately…but not like that. Her words made his hair stand on end.

Her eyes half lidded, his fingers pressing against the dish cloth soothingly, and her voice… teasing him in a new, dangerous fashion. “That actually feels really nice…” The way she says it, hits him silly, right below the belt. He tries to ignore it when her hand comes up and lays over his. He’s drawing blanks in his mind, when she practically purrs at him “…why so quick to baby me today, Butch?” He feels himself fighting not to let her get to him, because he knows she can tell lately.

She takes advantage of him and uses her hold on him, to make him blush on purpose. He doesn’t think it’s fair either. When she lowers her voice and smiles at him, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he wants to hide from her. “…I’m thinking you wanna play doctor with me more than you should.” He’s at a loss for words, when the silliest snicker leaves him. He wants to run away before he does something dumb.

She thought he was the coolest- I mean he was always telling her that right? He didn’t know what to do if she ever found out how…insecure he was- what kind of man would he be if he let her down? Her fingers brushing lightly over the top of his hand snap him back to focus. Her voice gets…serious on him then and he can tell the difference between her playing with him and her…her being serious with him. “…is that why you stayed last night? Huh?” She…she’d been doing that more often- since he’d started feeling a lot more stuttery and hot around her.

It was one thing when _he_ was doing the teasing, even when he was flirting a little. When things like that came out of that little blonde’s mouth though? She put on too good of an act for him to try and follow after her. However, she always blushed just as red as he did, each time she tried that kind of talk with him. It’s a blessing she did, because he’d of been completely on his ass, if she could just act like that and walk away, without being rattled a little.

At the same time though … that innocent little expression which took away from her smooth-talking him?

Her honest embarrassment, was what always had him squirming even worse after the fact.

He’d laughed nervously, affected by her flipping on the switch with him. Hoping, as he unrolled the cloth, that she couldn’t tell he’d never gotten to 2nd base. Knowing she’d probably been with enough guys to…to know more than him about some things. Excluding the fact she was a doctor, she… she _knew_ what she was doing, when he had no clue lately. He was silently praying to whoever was listening, that he didn’t do something stupid- or just fuckin’ stupider than usual right then.

He was a Tunnel Snake damn it and he still had his pride.

He covered her entire face with the rag swiftly, unable to look at her face or answer her directly. He felt like a moron for being tempted to get tongue-tied so easily. Pushing her away with his palm gently, he couldn’t think of something to throw back at her. He’d swallowed thickly, instead…basically giving up on acting smooth with her, because he couldn’t pull it off. She’d growled at his laughter. As she pulled the cloth off her face though?

She was cute enough to twist him up, that much he couldn’t ignore.

Laughing his goofy snort of a chuckle, while she was turning pink, staring at him shyly, he felt a thought cross him. A silly brave impulse, as he’d leaned in closer again. For the first time in a while…he was only _half_ joking with her. His eyes on hers, his heart on his sleeve a little and her expression was… soft.

She was surprised, as he tried his luck, tested it…only his words were so sentimental, flirting wasn’t the word for them. “Pft wah? N-No…not more than I should…Just wanted to help you out, Angie. …you know that.” His eyes are searching hers and the words come out all wrong. He’s losing his edge…not like he had one that morning to begin with. “…You weren’t **you** last night. Ya know, Blondie? What was I gonna do? Pass up a chance to…be there…with you?” In all honesty, he was hurting for her last night. She was so... she needed him last night and he couldn’t say no to her.

His heart flutters and he’s not able to joke around, feeling guilty over it a little. His face feels hot and she’s just staring up at him looking…sweet. He shrugs, his eyes falling off towards the sink, unable to deal with her eyes on him so intensely. “…and you always do… this kind of stuff for me anyway- the babying or whatever!” He scoffs, his smile full of nerves, goofy, as he leans against the sink with his hand on the edge of the counter. “–e-even when I don’t ask for it!”

He turns his head down, his hair falling into his eyes. He’s looking up at her through his lashes then. “So…”, but his voice cracks at how close she is and it pisses him off, because she never used to make him this nervous. “…W-we’re even.” He bites his lip, straightening up and gripping the sink a little tighter. “Sorta.” He awkwardly gestures between them, dish water clumsily flicking off his fingertips. “–about this I mean.”

He’s thinking back to when he used to knock her books out of her hand. Tacking it on as an afterthought, he’s bringing one of his damp hands up, to rub at the back of his neck. “Probably not about the other stuff though…m-maybe we’re not really **even**...hell, you’ve done this way…way more for me …” She snorts and his heart stops. He’s never really had to struggle for words this hard with her in a while. Clearly by the way she pushes at his shoulder, it shows.

She’s got such a girly laugh, it’s hard to think of her like a mercenary at all. Hard to see how the world could be so _scared_ of her. She’s making fun of him then and it unsettles him. “…You done?” He smiles too big and sighs hotly, being so uncool it’s killing him. He plants a firm hand on her shoulder, shaking her and making her laugh harder. **“** Just shut up will ya?”

She’d been laughing with him, till he couldn’t suddenly. He’d searched her eyes and he couldn’t help sharing it with her. …he’s not sure why he said it- it just slipped out. “You **want** me to worry about you or something, Pipsqueak?” His hand smoothed down her shoulder of its own accord. His heart jittered over the warmth under his old leather, but it was already too late to ask her permission to touch her…because he already did.

This was their new game lately.

It was chicken, but with feelings.

She’d snickered, breaking the tension and shoved at his shoulder. His hand fell off her arm, before she changed the subject and he let her. “I **wanted** to be the one drinking too much for once…maybe I didn’t **want** to be myself last night…” Her eyes searched his deeply for one unbearable moment, with an unspoken question. She’d almost looked frightened for a split second. …But before he could poke at the thread of their relationship anymore, she was already scurrying away from him.

He’d never be able to get over the sight of her back to him. Not after following after her for so long. She’d turned around and started walking out the arch towards the front door hallway, calling behind her shakily. “I’m going to trade for scrap today! Be back in a few hours …Don’t go into my room when I’m gone.” He hated seeing her go. As she called to him again, it still didn’t make him forget, that each time she left, could be the last time. “I don’t want your paws all over my stuff, Butch.”

He’d scoffed, rolling his eyes. He then reminded her, that she hadn’t had a problem with going into his room. She didn’t have a problem stealing _his_ stuff. “Hey! Do you see me bitchin’ to you about keeping your hands off **my** things? –and where d’you think you’re going without me?” He’s bluffing then, but completely serious all at the same time. “Who said we were done talking? Who’s the boss here?” He honestly didn’t know anymore.

Her voice echoed through the rafters and his chest a little, as she left him drying dishes again. “Me! I’m the boss and you know it!” She’s not giving him time to argue about it either. Her voice gets further away and her words warm his heart against his will. “Don’t **worry** about me too much! –and you **are** bitching about it!” He looks over his shoulder and sees her waving a hand at him from behind the door frame. “…I’m just going to the Swap a few miles west.” He feels himself open his mouth to protest, but she’s cutting him off before he can and he hates it when she’s right. “It’s boring and you’ll rush me the entire time, so don’t look at me like that.”

He growls under his breath, but doesn’t fight her on it, because it’s true.

He was more of a fighter than a shopper…he actually didn’t like trading much at all, unless it was guns, liquor, or new threads for his sewing box.

He’s listening to her every word and somehow, he can’t stand to hear her leave. He can’t stand seeing it either really. Even as she’s out of sight, still talking to him from the hall, he doesn’t really want her to go. “I’ll even pick you up something to replace what I took last night… if you’re nice.” He’d waited for the front door to open, before he’d had the guts to say it. He’d felt her pause when he did. “Don’t die… Or-or else. You better come home soon- not like I’m gonna be up waiting or anything though.”

His voice gets so soft and worried at the end, that he’s glad she can’t see him. “–Don’t be gone too long!” She’d heard him say it more than once, so he should have been better at getting it out by now. His voice felt like it would get softer every time, whether he was good at sharing his care with her or not. Each time he told her to stay alive, he meant it more and more each time. Her reply, was always more and more affectionate with him too and that morning…it really touched him. “I’ll miss you too, Butch.”

 

He hoped she’d be gone for a week, because that might be how long it took for this… for him to die, so she couldn’t find him like this **alive**.

He’d gone into her room just to spite her really. Being an overgrown child because he could. He was just going to take a few steps in and then grin, while he walked right back out. Just silly rebellion. He didn’t plan to snoop or go digging around either!

He was just going to walk in and out…that’s when he saw it. The tin lid, gleaming on the top of her wardrobe. A jar just sitting there, out in the open. That damn jar. That damn…damn girl.

He was paying for what he took from her and he was paying, in his own sweat and- he’s biting his pillow, feeling his family jewels tighten and release, spending himself again, all over his hand.

He just wanted a sandwich with something good on it, damn it.

He wanted to know what kind of poison, **did** this to a man, because whatever was in that **Ant** whatever it was, sure felt like poison to him alright.

Sweet, sticky, too much to take. It hit him slowly…till it didn’t. It was so sweet, he’d eaten half the jar without noticing. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, but he couldn’t stop once the smell of it hit him. He ate more than he’d planned on.

It was like a fog took over. He’d been fine one second and then he was scooping out the amber jam with his fingers, sucking on them. Craving the flavor like he hadn’t eaten in years. He’d eaten half the jar, before he realized what he was doing. He didn’t know **what** he was doing, just that he really, _really_ wanted more of whatever was in that homemade preserve jar.

The smell had been so inviting, that it had busted his brain. Then before he could help himself, he was backing away from the counter like a bullet hit him. He’d been scared out of his mind, because he hadn’t been in control of himself. Then he just stood there in the kitchen, huffing, unable to catch his breath, feeling like he was on a bad trip. His thoughts starting to slow and bunch up…as he started to wonder if what he’d eaten was actually edible.

He’d had the thought to put the jar back where it was… then his skin started feeling warm. Too warm. He’d ran a shaking hand through his hair and it had felt… _good_. So good it was fucking **weird**. He’d torn his fingers off his scalp like a frighten animal.

He’d taken a step back, when the room started spinning and… he started feeling, an almost pleasant tingling in his veins.

His heart started pumping faster, and as he thought to fall into his mattress to sleep it off, all his blood started rushing south, for no reason. He’d stumbled up the stairs and ended up in his room shortly after that. His t-shirt was left in the upstairs hallway, when it started rubbing against his skin too roughly. His once decently fit clothes, felt tight by the time he was on his bed and he’d shimmied out of his pants, without even locking the door behind him- he just wanted to lie down. Then as he lay there, it started to get worse and worse, and when he looked down between his thighs... he’d of had a tent pitched in his sweats so big, there would have been no hiding it, **if** he’d been wearing them. He was as naked as the day he was born though… and all he wanted to do, when he saw himself, hard, up, and out in the open …was to make it go away.

He didn’t even care, about having to take care of it himself. Why should he? Who’d know what he’d done? He was alone and it’s not like he wasn’t used to… letting off steam. Maybe it was just the fact, that it had come out of nowhere, which had him feeling a little…weird about it.

He really didn’t get why.

She was going to be gone for hours. He was all alone in their house…and it’s not like he hadn’t done this before- not like he couldn’t put the jar back after he finished. He’d learned his anatomy from Porno Mags- learned what an erection was from ‘em too. He’d yet to really…be with a girl though. …and no girl had even kissed him since, Susie Mack, and that was **years** ago.

His hand was the only hand he’d known and he knew himself just fine.

He felt like if he didn’t take care of it, he’d lose his mind too. He hadn’t in a while either and Angie… he felt **really** dirty for the first time ever, doing this then. He knew what to think about, to make it quick…and blondes? He’d always had a thing for blondes. …and she’d never know.

It had to go down once he took care of it…and he didn’t have much endurance anyway, but that was ok- no one needed to know that.

He’d never been so hot and hard up before, but he knew how to make it stop…

 

…3 hours of touching himself went by like a thick fog of lost time. He’d been writhing on his back tossing and turning, as the heat, the pleasure, the _ants_ crawling through his veins, intensified minute by minute. Coming and going like a fever. His head and belly were roiling with tension, as by the first hour it dawned on him, that it wasn’t going to stop- there wasn’t going to be an end. His own hands petting himself to orgasm more times, than it should have been possible for him to reach.

He knew he’d fucked up big time by the 15th wave of **fireworks**. It was fucking humanly, biologically impossible, but 3 hours later…here he still was. He felt sore and dehydrated and just…crazed with an unending need to get off. He had a big…hard…throbbing- he had a fuckin’ problem.

There was no getting **rid** of it either.

He felt like he was going to die. He felt so good that it **hurt**. It hurt and he couldn’t stop it from hurting, because he _couldn’t_. He was scared. He was alone in their house that seemed bigger than usual, and he was hard as a rock, covering his sheets in his own…sweat. Of all the ways he’d thought he would die, death by… by poisoning?

That was what he was calling it, because death by jerking it, was just too damn mortifying- even **he** had to admit it. He couldn’t call out for help either, because he couldn’t bear to let anyone else see him like this… he’d be a sitting duck. He couldn’t take much more, but it just kept coming…and he just kept cumming. He’d never felt more exposed, dazed, or sexually frustrated in his life. He growled angrily, going boneless for a brief moment, actually feeling the heat so hot again, that he wanted to cry.

One question rang out in his bones, one desperate cry above the thrumming of primal want, which was wrecking his perception on reality. Why? Why the FUCK did she have something like this, **just sitting on her dresser?!** What did she even need this for? Why the hell didn’t he just keep his hands OUT OF THE GODDAMN JELLY JAR?!

He’d been at this for hours.

 His skin was glistening with sweat. There were so many wet spots on his sheets and white spots in his vision, that he just didn’t care anymore. Sticky, hot and delirious from exhaustion, he was moaning halfway out of irritation and the other half, was just broken pleasure. He felt like his brain was snapping apart with ecstasy. Only one impulse flickering in his mind and that was to- _‘Fuck-fuck-more, more, sex-SEX-sex… Oh Christ, make it stop-UHN- FUCK-fuck…so hot-so hot…please-fuck-’_ –to reach his end over and over again.

He felt like he was losing his mind.

He was so out of it…that he didn’t even hear it, when she came home.

 

The Swap had been fairly enjoyable for her.

The merchants gathered there, had given her a lot of great deals and it was a good haul. She bought scrap-metal to patch up her old power armor and a bottle of Butch’s favorite scotch, to replace the bottle they’d drank last night. She also got some food, a few toys for Dogmeat and other useful supplies. The walk was short and the salvage was better than usual. So, with a smile on her face, she’d walked into the house with the radio going, set her bag on the floor beside the stairs and called out to her favorite pain in the ass.

“Butch! I’m home! Are you?” she was greeted by…silence. Silent, but for the drawl of Jack Shaindlin’s, Tickled Pink on her arm. Frowning she felt the dull echo of loneliness set in. Sighing, she felt her stomach growl and putting her temples between her fingers, she massaged the stress away for a moment. Butch may be loud and goofy, but he was always her favorite distraction from hard days.

He filled the silence.

Today wasn’t as hard as most, but in The Wasteland, that still means it was pretty damn difficult. She’s making her way over to the cupboard, dragging her boots off as she goes. She cracks her neck and shrugs off his old jacket. She pauses there then, holding it in her arms…feeling extremely fond of the snake stitched onto the leather. He’d given it to her to thank her for something he couldn’t repay…but he’d given her more than she could ever thank him for.

He gave her peace, by giving her hell.

Pushing away her feelings, she sets what is undeniably her most prized possession, on their table with a brief after thought. ‘He’s sweet in his own clumsy way isn’t he?…’ As she strides over to the right, she’s going for the cupboard, calling for him again. “Come on! I know you’re here-“however, her voice cuts off when her eyes…catch something very odd on the counter. The smell hits her next. Sweet, musky…the song on her Pipboy has changed to Butcher Pete and she knows, she’s not looking at, what she thinks she is…

_He’s hackin’ and whackin’ and  smackin’- he just whacks, hacks, choppin’ that meat!_

Tsking, she flicks the dial off, on the radio and picks up the telltale jar. She **knows** he didn’t go into her room, but as she turns the jar around, reading **Ant Queen Jelly** on the label…of course he did. She told him not to, so he **had** to. She’s scowling, until it dawns on her…that there’s a **ton** of it missing. Then…her lips turn up into a smile, which she can’t shake off, because of what thought is forming in her head.

Her one, hysterical and giddy thought is, ‘No…he didn’t…’ when from up the stairs she hears it. The radio had hid the sound, but just to her far right, over her workshop, coming from the wall on the 2nd story above the kitchen… is moaning. Decidedly, regretful male groaning. She knows exactly what’s going on upstairs, because that’s exactly what she’d kept the jar for. Ok…maybe not _exactly_ what she’d kept it for, but the aphrodisiac was so strong, it incapacitated males of most species with just a drop.

It made for a very convenient poison and also an enjoyable Friday night. In small doses. From the moaning coming from her childhood bully’s room and the lightness of the jar…He’d had more than a spoonful. The snort of mischievous joy that hits her, has her covering it with her hand. It’s not lethal, that much she knows…but she’s seen how much of a mess, that more than one bite of it can make.

She’d made it herself, using chemistry and a few drops of sugar. It was perhaps, the only thing she’d made to ingest, that didn’t taste terrible. The merchants at the Swap usually had a few raw glands of the Ant Queen’s gift to humanity, so making jelly wasn’t uncommon. Her jelly however, was probably the rarest, because it was made from **fire** ants. The Fire Ant Queen at Greyditch, was certainly a great find and she could go back for more anytime she wished, thanks to her scientist friend.

Her jelly was decidedly more potent than anything else out there.

It’s the funniest thing, that’s happened in a very long time. Her laughter bubbling out of her, as she puts the lid back on the jar, hunching over with laughter at every sorry whimper he makes. It serves him right for touching her things. She’s never felt more vindicated for all the mean words she’s ever gotten from him. He must be a mess right now and she’s laughing…until she isn’t. She pictures it.

She pictures what he must look like up there and that… is what wipes her grin off faster than a speeding bullet.

He must be having a really _hard_ time up there.

She huffs out a hallow laugh, as her sense of humor battles with her tender heart. When it sinks in, she can’t help herself. He’s probably up there out of his mind and he’s probably scared. She feels a little sorry for him, because of course she does. Till another loud and…aroused moan rumbles through the wall.

She feels her face flush with embarrassment, both for him and… for the response it gets from her. She thinks back to this morning, when she’d boldly and blatantly, came at him. She’d been doing that a lot lately. Her heart squeezes and her thoughts rebel against her. She’s been skirting around her fears and her growing affection for the Tunnel Snake, who’s whimpering in his room.

When she figured out that should could push his buttons… it was fun to make him lose his cool.

If she just walks back out the front door…she can come back tomorrow afternoon and say she was held up by a settler’s errand. She should leave. Her eyes drift up from the jelly jar, which she’s been blankly turning in her hands, towards the wall he’s behind. If she goes up there…she’s not sure what will happen. On the one hand, she knows she’ll probably just crack a few jokes at his expense…it’s what _else_ she **might** do, that has her wanting to run like a scared rad-rabbit.

She might even feel bad for him enough to be gentle with him. Too gentle. She feels the Doctor’s Daughter in her bones start to pull at her. She can’t just leave him up there, suffering. There’s not much she could do for him though…other than to tell him he’s not dying and to wait it out.

She should just come back later, before The Nosebleed being bullied by The Tunnel Snake…turns into Eve succumbing to the Serpent’s temptation. Her being Eve and Butch being…Butch. She’s seen naked men before and she’s even slept with a few nice ones…funny enough though? She’s never seen Butch… she’s come close and as much as he pretends he’s not shy, he **is** with her. Lately…he’s gotte really **terrible** at pretending too.

 

She’s at a crossroads.

 

When she sets the jar back down, she finds herself, between the stairs up and the hallway outside.

She could leave right then and maybe be able to look him in the eye tomorrow. She could pretend she never came home. She’d be able to stay just out of his reach. She could keep her distances and her heart maintained. She could do it, as long as she maintained the idea that if he dies one day, maybe it won’t hurt her as much to see him go?

She makes her choice. She’s smart and she’d lived alone for a long time before he came. Everyone else who had walked beside her, had died and she couldn’t survive another lost…companion. Her heart sinks, but she knows it’s for the best. She takes a few steps towards the hallway, deciding not to indulge in whatever sexual awakening is happening behind her…

…when she hears the one thing, which could possible shake her resolve. The one thing, which has her walking towards the sink, to fetch a lukewarm bucket of water and a wash cloth. Unmistakably, it’s Butch’s voice, but it’s deep and hot, husky…loud. It’s the voice of a man in the throes of orgasm…and it’s _her_ name, that’s falling carelessly out of his mouth. It’s probably her face that he’s thinking of too…probably not her face he’s getting off too. **“ANGIE-ah-ahss…** mmph…”

He’s calling her for help, but she knows…it’s not medical help. She’s walking up the stairs, telling her better judgement to be damned. Then? She’s at his bedroom door. Staring at the knob.

She’s faced feral ghouls, an army of deathclaws, and towering behemoths…but whatever the hell waits for her beyond this door? It’s the scariest thing ever. It’s wrong and yet so…tempting. The _funniest_ kind of event that she’s ever had to face. Butch always had a knack for making her laugh after they both left 101.

Her hand reaches for the door handle, but as she’s about to touch it, he makes the most… pathetic whine. She’s biting her lip, unable not to snicker wildly, as she knocks on his door. She calls out to him, because he probably didn’t hear her call him. “Hey in there! I’m coming in, ok? …Don’t worry…I know what you did.” her words littered with laughter, tears in her eyes, because the fear has taken a backseat to her funny bone. Of course, her heart’s probably pounding hard enough to make her hysterical…so there’s that too.

He did this to himself, by not listening to her and that…that just makes her day though.

He’d listened to her alright…he just did the opposite of what she’d told him. To be fair, the jam jar _would_ look inviting to anyone, who only saw it at face value. At least he’d never eat her food again without asking …she feels her adrenaline eating away at her, when he answers her. He sounds like he’s dying alright…from humiliation. “-FUCK!”

She hears him huffing, whining at her in what might be pain. “…no…no, -get the fuck away… oh FUCK, I’m dying… don’t come in …mmph… _mmph_ …” Her heart skips and her compassion, steals her laughter away. The affection he has rising inside of her chest, is what terrifies her.  She really…really loves him. Her fingers tighten around the bucket handle and taking a breath, she turns the door knob.

She swallows thickly, as it gives. Her blonde hair falls into her eyes and she blows it away, preparing herself for…she doesn’t know. She opens the door and the sweetness flits into her nose, like the room’s filled with her stolen Ant Pheromones. It’s so musky, it’s like the walls are painted with it almost. Mixed with Spiced Peaches, the pomade she grew up being smothered by…the smell almost having her mouth, watering.

She swallows thickly and takes a step into his room.

The late afternoon light illuminates dust particles, the rays coming in from the window’s dingy glass, which she’s got her eyes stuck on. Till she’s letting his door close behind her and she finds him to her right. Her heart hammers against her ribcage and if a Deathclaw broke down her front door right then, she couldn’t look away if she tried. There, facing away from her on his side, was a sweat soaked, naked, muscled and masculine backside. In that moment, her eyes are trailing down the curve of his spine, with a very enticed interest.

His legs are shapely, his ass is to die for, and his tanned, youthful skin is unmarred. She’d always made sure to patch him up, if he ever got hurt and it showed, because no Wastelander looked that untouched by the elements. He’s practically glowing with health in the light of the sun, curled up in a ball that speaks of nothing, but open weakness. She’s not sure if she’s…no she _is_. She has **never** caught him with his pants down, in either the literal or the metaphorical sense- never seen him so vulnerable.

It’s tugging at her heartstrings for some odd reason. She’s thinking of all the other moments that she’s had with him. Odd little memories. They float by her mind’s eye like a flash of photographs being taken.

 

The first moment’s back in 101, he’s 19 and she’s 18. He’s got her backed against the wall, sneering and too close, mocking. _“Gonna cry, Shrimp? Daddy Doctor ain’t here to save you now, is he? So what are you gonna do now, huh? …hey, no one here but me and you. You should be shaking- why aren’t you running, Nosebleed?”_ She hadn’t ran away, because she’d had his switchblade and she wasn’t afraid… because he’d already said that phrase a few times before, so it had frankly lost its weight. She’d got the feeling he’d been practicing it in the mirror all day, actually.

 She’d felt angry, trapped, and yet… she wasn’t afraid of him or his threats.

 But…

She was scared silly over how **good** he’d smelled to her young senses.

 So close and tall, that he could have crushed her.

 Another memory ticks by.

Her against a wall again, but its old world bricks digging into her back, instead of Vault Tec Steel. He thought he heard something, he said. _“Wait-wait-wait…shh, I heard something- shut up…”_ He wasn’t lying either. She looked over his shoulder and saw a party of raiders, walking right by, loud and vulgar. She looked up at his face and he’d been terrified, but it was how he’d protected her despite it, which stuck to her memory. He’d been shaking that day, but she’d had her gun out, so she wasn’t scared for herself. He sure as hell hadn’t been pinning her up against the wall, because his legs were tired.

He was exposing himself to gunfire for her.

He’d have died for her and that moment, was the moment she knew, that he’d never abandon her. He was afraid for her and she was afraid for him- of how much she enjoyed him. Their thoughts somehow became only of keeping the other safe…somewhere along the way. That moment spoke to her. It marked her heart right then, after the raiders were gone.

Right then, they both knew, that they were left with only each other. His palms were flat beside her head and his back was bared. Standing in front of her like a shield of leather and muscle, shivering with fear. Her hands had been on his chest and she’d felt his heart pounding. He’d been so scared.

The moment would never leave her after it passed. Her breath on his neck and his body hunching over hers closely. Protective. Border lining on possessive actually. He’d pulled away, swallowing thickly.

Shaking, rattled, his voice too damn gentle, because of the raiders… but also because of her. _“…you ok…-I didn’t meant to… s-sorry for shoving ya so hard …-are they gone? ….you ok, Pipsqueak?…”_ She would never be “ok” again, because that was the day she fell so hard for him, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Other pictures fall and sift, in the minute she’s tracing her eyes wildly on his skin.

Smiling, laughing, yelling, loud and angry, cocky… beautiful Deloria.

Her chest tightens, because she knows him well. She knows him very well she realizes. He was childish, a bully even at his best, and a loudmouth. He was also…insecure, loyal, and innocent about certain things, while pretending he wasn’t. Acting like he knew what being “tough” was, what being “hard” was.

He was her best friend and she’d do just about anything for the big bully now- hell she was protective of him too.

Even if he was a giant, bluffing, goofy idiot, he was her life out here and she’d be damned if she didn’t take care of him.

She feels a stutter of a gasp shake into her lungs. The heat inside his bedroom, is decidedly higher than the rest of the house, sweltering and sweet smelling. The sight of him like that alone, would have been enough to twist her insides up. Mixed emotions of attraction, affection, and fear, over not only the sight of him, but the way he moves when she walks in. She watches entranced, as his every muscle tenses up tautly and relaxes.

Then, as if he’s unable to even stop himself or even speak correctly, he groans. “…Evangeline… _Angie_ …” Her heart twinges, at the sound of her name. It’s foreign to her, with that tone of voice to him. She watches him roll onto his back, no shame and no rush, as she feels her heart rebelliously speeding up on her. He’s not going to cover himself up and it becomes clear, with every passing moment, that he’s too out of it to care about modesty.

With every second that passes by, the sight of his naked body takes it and makes time pass 10 times slower for her. Her heart pounds, her mind lost in muscled places, where her eyes are fluttering across flightily. Her teenage dream, her lifelong annoyance, and all she has left of both past and future…laying bare in front of her. She’s watching too closely and the notion hits her heavy and slow, just like his spine hits the mattress. She’s then firmly and stubbornly, fixing her eyes on the back of his head, which proves to be an error, because _fuck_ …the look on his face when he meets her eyes.

Her lips must have parted with hunger, shocked at the way he looked at her. He looked like he was begging her not to leave him. He looked like he was begging her to _run_ at the same time. He looked both afraid, yet amply irritated, both vulnerable and fighting to remain lucid over obvious chemical arousal. He looked _good_ naked and she wasn’t good enough not to notice.

His motions were almost gracefully sluggish.

The way he twisted in her direction, was like poetry, her eyes eating up his every movement. Hips first, his body turning in such a way, that his maleness was just barely masked from her sight. The surely swollen masculinity between his legs, obscured from her view, by the rise of his thigh. His expression disoriented, twisted up between pleasure, pain, and annoyance. Sexually disoriented and blushing all over his entire body, she couldn’t **not** be affected by the picture in front of her.

The scene playing out before her, was something out of a fever dream.

His shoulders hit his mattress last, as his spine twisted and turned to be flat against his bedsheets. Surely a very swift movement, slowed by her adrenaline, as if V.A.T.S. had unwillingly stolen her choice away. She’s wondering about all the negative things, which they’d finally both had to let go of, to get to this point. Whether it was “Tunnel Snake” pride that made them stick together or sheer loneliness, that’s not what kept them together now. His hazy blue eyes lock with hers without meaning to, two parts shy honesty and lazy confidence, brought on by his physical fatigue, most likely.

When he sees her, **really** sees her? That moment that he’s glaringly aware, that she’s real? That he’s defenseless and she’s just watching him suffer, naked and so hard it hurts? His brow raises in what she would call, shock, terror, and obvious guilt. Like a collection of male pride being rubbed the wrong way and almost childish agitation, followed up by wanting to be rubbed the _right_ way.

She’s huffing out a laugh, all nerves and dissipated words.

He whines at her, like he’s embarrassed and she can’t even really process…all of him all at once. They share a pause, a heavy moment. A moment where they’re both simply looking at each other from across the room. She feels her heart clench for him, when his face blossoms with an even redder complexion, than she’d thought possible at that point. He turns his head away from her, his eyes bolted to wall, as he swears. “ **-shit** …”

She watches with a smile trying to form on her mouth, as he covers his eyes with his hands. He doesn’t say a word and the more she catches his hitching breathing pattern, his curses and light shudders, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to look at her either. However, if he knew what she was thinking? He wouldn’t have felt so bashful…

He wouldn’t have felt that way at all, she’s fairly sure. No, she **knows** he wouldn’t have turned away, if he knew what was going through her mind. He boasts, puffs himself up and talks about his looks constantly, acting like he’s the king of the whole world. She’s always teasing and keeping him at arm’s length, just to bring him down to size. However, if he knew what she thought of him in that moment?

She’s afraid of what he’d do actually, because she honestly doesn’t know how he’d react. She doesn’t know what he’d think if she’d call him “handsome” or told him nice things- said she liked what she saw right then. She just knows she rarely does and he always gets flustered, like he never expected her to say anything nice to him at all. He always acts, like he really doesn’t know how to take her compliments. However, her mind is full of nothing but flattery and sheer, dirty appreciation for him, as she can do nothing but stand there.

She can barely think in that instant, because all she sees…. covering every defined, well trained and nicely built up dimple of strength… is _skin_.

Beautiful, heartstoppingly masculine and damn near perfect, sex-soaked, blushing **skin**.

He was nothing but smooth skin, Old World Italian complexion, and shivering muscle. Irrefutably handsome and oddly beautiful to her. Her thoughts were drawing a blank on clinical practice, only to have her head filled with **want,** in place of standoffish bedside manner. She’d walked in with the intent to simply comfort him, maybe even poke fun at him a little. She’d thought she was prepared for him… although, as he was sometimes able to do on occasion, he proved her dead wrong.

Her ears catch his voice, like her heart catches on the rush of excitement, which shoots through her chest. Her thoughts still drawing blanks, and she can’t bear to miss a single thing he says right then. “Oh god… make it…ah-ss… _stop_ … don’t fuckin- **oh-** don’t look-mmph-don’t look at me right now…” His every huff and jolt, starts to leave her knocked ass backwards. She watches him unravel in a way that is jarring and provocative, a shock to her senses. His voice makes her hair stand on end. “…I’m gonna… I’m gonna **mmn-** _I’m gonna **-ah**_ … **FUCK-** ”

He’s crying out with a breathless, drawn out, deep and shivering groan. She can’t look away, even if she should. Her eyes are on his belly, flexing as his hips arch up wantonly. His toes curl into his mattress and his voice strikes her ears like a crack of thunder. Without much guesswork or need to question what’s happening to her housemate, it’s to her immediate understanding…that he’s having an orgasm.

She’s walked in on a decidedly private display, which she’d _thought_ she’d been prepared for- wow!

…how stupid she could be sometimes.

Maybe if it was anyone else? Maybe if it wasn’t the boy, who’d she known since kindergarten? Maybe if it wasn’t the guy with the goofy snort of a laugh, who made her heart melt each time she heard it? Maybe if he hadn’t of called her name, she would have already been sitting at the Brass Lantern. Life sure as hell wasn’t based on “maybes” and all that mattered out the Wastes, were absolutes.

…and she was **absolutely** sure, she should have left faster- fast enough to have been able to miss her name in his mouth.

It's as if time has rolled to a stiff and steamy halt. She knows he’s having one hell of a climax, because the noise that leaves him, is the last thing from forced. It’s like surrender or maybe he’s just unable to fight it anymore, so he’s just been giving into them. The sight of him writhing, panting like he’s thirsty for more, leaves her feeling as if she is intruding on something taboo. His legs are shaking and his body shudders, overworked and clearly over sexed.

The way his words piece together is more animal than man, in the moment. “… _huff-mmph- **‘m done…**_ ” His feet are planted flat on his mattress, but as another wave of pleasure seems to hit him, his back’s curving with a primal age old pose. His hips rocking in a vulgar display, which is both oddly beautiful and seductively blunt. It’s with a pit of heat and epiphany in her stomach, that she sees that he’s _done_ alright. His hips roll up in one final motion and then fall heavily on the wet outline, which his body’s made on his sheet.

His mouth opens a little wider, as he breathes like he’s burning up in the sun. She can’t help but jolt at the next quiet, choked up cry of release, as he tapers off from a sob into a hissing sigh. She wonders what he’ll do next. She wonders what she’s going to do, because they’ve seen hell and blood together, war and peace. They’ve hated each other, defended each other, and there’s been nothing they couldn’t overcome or face, without their little gang staying intact and strong.

She’s pretty sure…that no matter the clear humor she’s found here, there’s no way she can look at him the same anymore.

Not after this.

He’s huffing and panting more heavily then, dragging both his hands back through his hair, every bit of him just screaming “disheveled”. There she is, just standing there, slack jawed, a billion thoughts inside her brain and not enough free space to spare. He’s 5 feet away and she’s 9 feet off the deep end, buried under churning emotions. When his eyes lock with hers… dear **fuck** \- she really shouldn’t have walked in, she shouldn’t have thought she wouldn’t be affected. If she was even 10% honest with herself however, he was just a walking mass of “chemical reaction” to her senses.

She’d been “affected” by him for a long time. That’s what fueled her anger at him the most, at times. She liked him too much now and she couldn’t stand it. She loved him, but was too scared to act on it, after all their bad history. His eyes are dark like a Lovecraftian abyss, which she once saw illustrated in an old world horror novel.

Black blue like a fictional chasm of feeling, madness, and _pleasure_. His lips are red like he’s been biting at them a little too much and his expression, tears at her ability to stand firm. He’s scared, aroused, and she can’t help wanting to help him. She’s her father’s daughter alright and Butch has always been cocky, prideful, and overall anything, but manly- more childish and ill-tempered than anyone she knew. Right now though, there’s none of those things showing in him.

No jokes, no teasing, and no avoiding the lustful heat, which he was soaked to the bone in.

There was nothing familiar on that tired, predatory, male face. No expression that she could recognize him ever giving to her before. If anything, he’d look nothing but miserable, if not for the way his thighs shivered saying otherwise. Miserable, if not for the angry shame, glaring at her through those dark blues of his; the lucidity behind the afterglow of his pleasure. His brow scowls at her, one of his hands falling like lightning between his thighs, his… **male anatomy** , still obscured by the way his leg is bent.

He is nothing, but distraught, in the way he growls at her through gritted teeth. “-You just gonna stand there, **Nosebleed** _?_ ARE YA? _…hah…ss…_ s-staring at me?! … _”_ Whether it’s the way he says it with such a pitchy cracking voice, or just her wanting to defuse the situation, she’s broken by it. She giggles, her free hand coming up to catch it. Her stomach bubbles with laughter that seems to consume her. Her resolve, her grit, and her ability to keep a poker face, falling over her in a comforting wave.

It’s not a mean laugh and if anything, it’s just… unsettling to see him like this. It’s his own fault too, his fault that he looks like that. She’s watching him blush darker at the sound. She feels more comfortable teasing him, than she does standing there in silence, locked in her own head. “…who wouldn’t stare? I told you not to go into my room… see what happens when you eat stuff that’s not yours? What if that had been something poisonous?” He opens his mouth like he’s going to yell disagreement at her and throw a fit. She’s fairly sure that it was **poison** according to him _now_.

Before he does get a word out, it looks as if another wave of intense pleasure hits him again, his own sharp squeak of horrified realization, cutting himself off. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes, the absence of his glare giving her the courage needed to approach him. She takes 3 large strides, the water sloshing around in the bucket, alerting him to her fast approach. His express draws her closer, but her heart is what’s keeping her there. She can control herself enough to help him with the fever at the very least.

If she doesn’t move now, she just might lose her nerve. His eyes dart back open and he’s blushing so red, that he looks like he’s got a sunburn. She’s just as red as he is, only she’s better at playing it cool, she’s always been better at that. She watches humility wash over him. He looks as if his dignity can’t bare her to come closer and he’s trying to turn away from her on his side again.

He’s shy. It’s…oddly sweet, despite the circumstances. The way his voice leaves him, makes her melt a little, all stuttered and falling apart as it is. “-don’t-don’t joke- don’t look- don’t even- _oh…oh god…”_ Then she watches his expression grow panicked a moment later. His voice devolving into deep, breathy words, the darkness in his eyes turning hazy again. “…It’s… _- **oh** …oh-fuck, **it’s happening** **again**_ …oh _no…ah-ss…mmph… **no** …oh **fuck ME…**_ ”

She’s watching as he’s got one hand pressing down between his thighs. His other hand shaking as it drops down to grip at his sheets. She’s trying to keep her eyes on his face, but now that she’s standing beside him, looking down at him?  Oh, she’s looking away alright, right in the direction that his hand is pressing. She didn’t mean to, but there’s just **too much** for him to hide and so she catches a very explicit view, his hand and his hard, thick, not at all unappealing- She jerks her eyes away, jumpy at herself.

Nervous laughter hitting her harder than an oncoming mini-nuke. She’s seen them before, of course she has. In both books and a few clumsy flings up here. Though his is… **attractive** to her, exciting her beyond sound reason and she’s sure it’s not just because he’s so nice to look at. His belly is covered in male release and his abdominals keep contracting, fluttering occasionally, like butterflies.

He’s all she’s got left anymore. He’s so much more to her than skin and sexual relief. He’s not a stranger, worse yet she knows him better than anyone does. He’s supposed to be familiar, comfortable, and not…naked in front of her. She sets the bucket down and her voice isn’t laughing anymore.

It’s husky and low, sweet enough to make him give her a curious look and a shocked gasp. “I’m almost tempted to …” His eyebrows raises up and she’s swallowing thickly, trying to ignore… **everything.** “Shh, it’s ok, don’t be so embarrassed. I’m not even looking, geez. You’re going to live you know, just in case you were worried…” She huffs out a laugh, and her heart’s doing somersaults, twisting and turning behind her sternum. She loves him. She loves his laugh and his stupid jokes.

She loves everything about him and the way she smiles at him, shows it to him. “…you’re probably not going to live this down though. Mostly because I’m not going to let you, but who am I going to tell? Geez, Butch.” he whimpers eyebrows bunching together. Then he’s turning his head away from her again, his other hand going to join the other between his hips. He tries to hide his blatantly visible sin from her, not able to make eye contact as he attempts the impossible task. This is why you shouldn’t take things that aren’t yours.

You don’t know what karma might be giving back to you.

She sets the bucket down on his cluttered nightstand, pushing away the ammo boxes, sewing magazines, knives and empty shot glasses. She takes in the curve of his jaw, the way his hair looks as it curls around his ears, close enough to touch him. He’s got his eyes closed, his breathing’s off in all directions, and she’s trying really hard to focus on what she needs to be doing. The rag, which she’s now wringing out over the bucket. It’s cold, or as cold as lukewarm can be.

It’ll help the fever he’s feeling. That’s all she wants to do- because she cares about him like a friend should. She cares too much…more than a friend, more than she can help. Her voice is so gentle, at the truth she lets him in on and it’s something that they both already know. “…I mean, you’re all I’ve got. Besides…” She knows there’s more than friendship that’s been dancing between them lately.

She doesn’t even realize his looking up at her, till she’s done squeezing all the excess water from the cloth. She puts all of her frustration out into twisting the rag, trying to keep a neutral face. She doesn’t see his own frustration being directed at her either. Nor does she realize the softness in her movements. The affection, that’s abruptly screaming at him, with the subconscious way she’s smiling.

She’s trying to make it a joke, but it doesn’t sound like a joke to either of them at all. “…I wouldn’t want to share **this** with _anyone_ else…you’re the only person I could laugh about this kind of thing with…about walking in on you doing something this, uh… _personal_.” She’s chuckling, his eyes now stuck on her without her knowledge. The humor she’d had, is mingling with truths she doesn’t mean to reveal. “…so don’t worry about that, if you are. …we’re stuck trusting each other…no one I trust more. …trust me…ha…” He’s moved by her words. His heart warming like the fire ants are spreading there too.  

She doesn’t know that though, not as she’s finally pausing in her almost over zealously dipping and wringing of the cloth. “Ha, you’re probably feeling really dumb right now, huh? Oh…boy…you really must…you and your dumb mistakes…” She smiles, but it’s not a strong one that stays. It’s one that falls off her mouth, as soon as she finally notices the gentle look he’s giving her. “You uhm…must be burning up …ha…here. Something cold to help with-“She’s turning back to him and being thrown off balance by it, by that look in his eyes. His dreamlike voice and his words, leave her frozen. Filled with sexual wishes, but also rough affection, which she hasn’t heard so strong from him before.

His tone has her blood singing. “-Oh for fucks sake, stop being so **nice** about this, Ange’…mmph…”

She’s vaguely aware of water dripping onto his floor, watch his eyes now searching hers. She couldn’t look away from him if her life depended on it, the way his words captured her, delirious with pleasure. “…you’re too damn nice…sweet even…when…q-quit it…you’re makin’ it worse…” She’s trying to ignore the scent of sex and sweetness perfumed all over him, but it’s surely messing with her reasoning.

A deep raspy sigh leaves him, as his eyes flutter closed. His breathing ragged as his hands fall away from where they are pressing down on his sex. His fingers are digging into the sheets then. He’s taking in deep breaths, like he’s trying to calm himself, but she knows that’s going to be impossible. At least until that jelly wears off.

His eyes open again, flickering from her face, to the weight of his arousal now resting on his belly. His voice dark for moment, his words having her reeling. “… **uhn** … _mmph-_ nothing gets to you does it?... _ah-ss…”_ Her eyes have followed his and her mouth’s gone a little dry at the size of him. When he turns his eyes to her again, his softened expression is digging into her soul.

It’s like he’s in a fog again or maybe like he’s just given up trying to hide what he can’t. His lips quirk up into a smile that leaves her insides quivering. It’s gentle and lost, his voice having her breathing a shaking sigh. “…you’re so good… it’s killing me…” His laugh is velvet on fire, smoky and honest. “I trust you alright- kinda have to when you’re…mmph…fuck…you like what you’re looking at? O-or something? _–ah…ss…_ ” Her eyes have been lingering on his hard on, because it’s hard not to stare.

So when his words register, her eyes are back on his face and glued there. Though, she’s sure her thoughts, her secretive dirty ideas, must be showing on her face. He’s both confident and yet…she knows he’s nervous, you’d have to be blind not to see. She’s not smiling at all and she surprises herself, by how direct and breathless her voice is. “…it’s hard not to stare when you’re so…” she’s swallowing thickly, trailing off and his eyes seem to darken over her words. “…so…don’t blame me for staring at you…”

She watches him shake his head on his pillow, his eyes stuck on her, his smile a little bigger than it was. She’s huffing at him, somehow feeling shy herself. “-Stop smiling…if I can’t be nice then you can’t fucking smile like that at me… right now…naked and… stop smiling will you?” He looks as if he’s going to say something to lighten the mood, when she sees the telltale look on his face again. His eyes widen and his voice mutinies on him, when he groans instead of puts words together.

He curses again, as she finds herself drawn closer to his side, clutching the rag, that’s still damp in her hands. “ _-Son of a…ah- **ah-FUCK…fuck** …fuck…” _She watches his eyes get foggy, as his fingers grip the sheets again and his cock seems to draw her attention again. He’s quite literally throbbing with pleasure. She’s tempted to touch him in ways that’ll break the boundaries they’ve kept together somehow. As if he’s reading her mind, he says it like he just doesn’t care to keep his thoughts to himself. “…fuck…- **I wanna kiss you… -I wanna kiss you … _ah-ss…-so bad it hurts…it burns…mmph…god-”_**

He's gasping, like he can’t help what he’s saying. He’s out of his mind, but something tells her, that he’s not lying- he’s nothing but raw honesty if anything. He’s got his eyes back on his ceiling and the way he’s acting…she’s not laughing, she can’t find anything funny about it at all. She’s never heard of anyone dying from ingesting too much Ant Queen Jelly, but if they did who would know? They’d die of embarrassment first, before it ever got out most likely.

She’s almost a little worried about him. His voice is frustration of multiple kinds, directed both at her and his ceiling. ** _“Why is it so fuckin’ hot in here_** _?!_ ” She’s sighing at him and without giving it a second thought, she reaches out a hand to cradle his cheek. A sweet gesture, just her wanting to offer comfort to him while he’s pain. She was unable to really figure out how to give it to him right then, without stoking the fire in him.

His cheek is not nearly as rough as she’d have anticipated.

His skin is soft, smoothly shaven, and when his jaw brushes up against her palm, he’s leaning against it like a beggar to water. His eyes widen again, overwhelmed by the contact. He’s closing them soon after, huffing over the contact, rubbing against her palm in a rather vulgar yet tender way. As if her touch brings him a small amount of relief, the tension throughout his body seems to diffuse a bit. Her mind is forming ideas that it shouldn’t be.

She’s practically whispering it, trying to make him laugh, and trying not to think too much. “…I’m uh…pretty sure it’s just you, Butch…” his eyes blink open like she’s slapped him. He registers her words and for the first time, in what’s been almost 4 hours now, he cracks a genuine grin. A rolling laugh leaving his ribs shaking. Loud, boyish and strong enough to distract him for just a moment, his words steadier than they’ve been so far. “…real funny.”

He’s biting his lip, still dealing with the after-effects of the aphrodisiac, though he’s smiling at least. She’s smiling too. She likes the way he’s leaning into her hand, loves the way his skin feels- the way he’s trusting her, the words he’s throwing at her. He seems a little bit more relaxed to have her standing there, which is probably why he says it without thinking. Her thumb’s tracing across his bottom lip and his eyes flutter shut softly, like it must feel better than it should.

She knows he must be feeling better than he should. She also knows that she probably shouldn’t be touching him. She’s not just tempting him, but herself. Then again, if she wanted to dwell on “should haves”, she’d have just found her way out of the house 30 minutes ago. She’s whispering it to him without thinking, only feeling herself going softer on him. “Hm, I know I am… you’re real funny too. … with that goofy face you’re making at me right now.”

Then, he says something that breaks her restraint altogether. It’s a sigh, filled with laughter that slips into pure bliss. Contentedly at peace to have her touching him, his feelings show like neon. It’s filled with honesty and it’s not the just Ant Jelly talking, they both know it. “…I really love you…” What should have been shocking to hear… for her?

There’s only a massive return for it inside her, a clear and undeniable reciprocation.

There’s a pause in the atmosphere, when what he’s said lingers. Then his soft expression goes almost blank, probably mirroring her own dumbstruck expression. She watches his face twist up like he didn’t mean to say it, like he regrets it… like he’s afraid of her reaction. He huffs out a sharp breath, unable to look her in the eyes again when he speaks. “I…mph- didn’t mean to say that…”

She sighs with kind attention, understanding, as he closes his eyes and attempts to turn his face out of her palm.

He’s stuttering, blushing, and making no attempt to take it back. “…can’t even think straight…” They both know it’s not going to change what’s been said, even if he tried. “-shit-fuck- _uhn…._ ’s the stupid… **lame** ….- **fuckin ants** …” He’s about ready to cry she realizes, his eyes watering and his voice cracking. She’s not sure about tomorrow, or what might happen if they cross this line, but what she is sure of…is that she’s not going to be able to keep her hands to herself for much longer. She can can’t even think right, after hearing him say it though, like the pheromones are soaking her skin too.

She starts to wonder if the smell of that Ant Jam alone is enough to drive someone’s libido through the ceiling.

Her hands are actually shaking a bit. The one near his face is thirsting to be back on his skin and the other is gripping the washcloth too tight. She’s always had steady hands. Being trained in medicine, especially in the Wasteland, you had to have steady hands even in the worse situations. Someone could lose a finger otherwise. She’s never had to treat anything like _this_ before though.

She’s also, never seen him hard, heavy and thick below the belt…Butch Deloria’s _python_. Her humor doing nothing to divert her desire. She may not have seen him naked before, but she just didn’t think she’d be so utterly tongue tied if she did. It’s not like she hadn’t _pictured_ it either. He’d filled out over the years, like a man should when he’s not a boy anymore.

More muscle, deeper voice, more definition…more hair.

She was tracing circles around the dark hair dusting below his navel, with filthy intentions. Trimmed, cut, and handsome to look at. She could see “hairdressing” went a little farther for him the she thought. The more her eyes explored the little details about him, his hands, his pubic hair, even his fingernails seemed well taken care of, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes internally. He was a damn primadonna alright…still a vault dweller in that aspect.

How he kept his nails even halfway nice, surprised her and yet it didn’t.

Since his voice first started cracking, he’d been preening like a peacock. He spent more time in front of the bathroom mirror than he should. Sometimes she’d even hear him practicing lines to sound “cool”…sometimes she’d even interrupt him and he’d snipe at her for intruding. He was cocky alright, that’s what he was…but she liked that about him. It was endearing to her actually, that he tried so hard.

Never, would her imagination compare to the reality of him…not now. He was a 10 out of 10 **babe** and it only made his bragging, that much more irritating to her most days. She’d go as far as to say, that he was the cockiest asshole in the Wasteland. Right now though? There wasn’t a lick of showboating in him, not in the least.

There was only raw feeling, emotion, and the love she knew he felt for her, coming out all wrong.

She knew that love really well… because she’d been feeling it too. There was pleasure and pain along with the feeling. Heartache and the home she couldn’t bear to return to, without him waiting in it. She’s staring at his mouth and her thoughts are trying to drag her closer. She saw a man she wanted to take hold of- a man to take care of.

Butch had become a man to her…and that both thrilled and terrified her.

She wanted to kiss him too. She wanted to think about tomorrow later and more than anything, she’d been wanting him like this for months. She wanted a lot of things she couldn’t have. The one thing she wanted more than anything though, was him. She wanted to love him openly, touch him, taste him, and give him everything she’d been keeping to herself.

She hadn’t been keeping it to herself very well lately.

It was only fair, because he’d given her everything he could. He gave his best, every day since he left the vault. Since the day she’d picked him up from the bar, he tried too hard for her at everything. Tried to be cool, tried to shoot straight, he fought for her attention and took it if she wasn’t looking at him. She wanted him.

Every needy, mouthy, manly and insecure piece of him- she wanted it all.

Most of all, she didn’t want to see him crying. Not like this. Not because he thought she’d leave him or that he’d fucked up everything they’d had going. She could see it written all over his face too. _“I love you”_ was something they hadn’t told one another…but it was unspoken.

You wouldn’t die without even having to think about it, for someone you didn’t.

She sighs hotly, moved by him. It must be hell for him to have her here like this, when he’s unable to help control himself or able to…do what he wants to. She’s finally finding her sense again, swallowing harshly as she realizes, that the cloth in her hands is damn near dry. She shakes her head and dips it into the bucket again, much more quickly. Her voice breaks the quiet, where his panting had been the only sound. “…hey…I’m still here…I… I know you do…”

She watches his eyes flicker on the ceiling, as she finally squeezes the rag and takes it gently to his face. She jolts, because the way he reacts to her touch is…he’s _loud_. “OH GOD…oh, that’s **good** …oh…yeah-cold… _nice_ …” She swallows thickly again, because she’s sure she’s lost her mind. She’s not really thinking when she leans down over him. His voice curls around her mind, his eyes dilated till he closes them, biting his lip till he’s whispering apologies. “… _mmph_ …mph…’m sorry…hah…”

She turns his face to her again and his shock is evident, as she cradles his smooth shaven jaw in both of her palms. She’s so close now, leaning on the edge of his bed, that she can taste the sweetness of his breath. Her heart’s pounding and her hands are still shaking. Her voice seems to have him starkly awake for one fleeting second. “…I really want to kiss you too…d’you mind if I do?” Her words spoken, with a depth of sincerity, that she knows she hasn’t used before.

She’s gazing into his eyes, her knees on the edge of his mattress, and her voice shaking almost as terribly as her hands are. “…you’ve got any idea what you look like right now? If I looked like you, you’d have kissed me without even asking…” She sees his eyes darken and she can see it burning behind them, in his mind, in the way his breath catches; she sees sex-crazed madness. He’s not going to tell her no and if she doesn’t bridge the gap, she knows he will. She hears one of his hands shifting on the sheet to pull her down, she can feel it in the air. Then she hears his voice against her mouth, hot like embers, searing, like he’s got a thread of control that’s about to break. “…don’t tease me- **I’ll lose it** … _fuck_ \- you’re close…oh god…”

She hears the pheromones talking in his gravelly demand, more talk than real intent, and sexual frustration at the forefront of his tone. She knows the steps they’ve take to get here, a lonely and rough ride. The point of no return. She’s whispering it brokenly, but he jolts like she’s just shouted it at him. “…I love you too…” His face goes pink, his brow scrunches and he whines in sweet agony.

The lust in his voice dies down, replaced with a timid expression and a breathless gasp. “…you what…?” It’s when he’s huffing against her lips, that she steals it from him with her kiss. His breath hitches and her heart almost stops at the spark of his mouth pressed softly to hers. She hears his feet move the sheets, shifting them. Her thumbs brush his cheekbones and the way he moans against her mouth, leaves her chest squeezing with excitement.

The kiss is soft, sweet…till it’s not. He whimpers, whether with need or raw unsureness, it’s hard to tell…she just knows she wants to lick the sound right off his tongue. He’s been fairly still right up until the moment, that she takes a careless dip of her tongue between his lips. Fire shoots through her blood, when he presses back more strongly, his fingers tangling through her hair smoothly and his touch needy, aching. He sits up gracefully, the wash cloth falling off the edge of his pillow, wetting his mattress further, a muffled whine mingles with her gasp of shock, as his tongue darts against hers, taking complete control of the situation.

Dominatingly giving.

Her fingertips slip into the silky darkness of his hair, her heart pounding, mirroring him gently. Time slows, as she stops to take a breath, pulling away from him…only to be brought right back to him. He gives her no time to catch her breath and her head is spinning. She’s thrown herself into the snake pit without knowing it, because his kiss is urgent if not softly so. He’s gentle, but fervent.

She’s got her knees on his mattress now, on the bed with him, heat coiling in her belly like molten flames. She hears his other set of fingers gripping the sheets, his kisses coming in hot over and over again. He’s making her senseless and intoxicating to her senses. His hands are large, the one on the back of her head drawing her closer and closer, till she’s having to steady herself on his shoulders, as his back hits the bedding. She’s damn near drowning in him, when without warning, he pulls back, gasping, shivering, and his voice devoid of control or confidence….just a broken plea. “ _…oh **god** …_”   

Her hair like curtains around them, their ragged breathing like a roar in the silence. Her forehead’s resting against his, because he’s pressing it there and as she feels his hand shaking, it dawns on her. He’s sobbing against her mouth, shuddering and falling boneless against the bed. The bed springs creaking at the telltale sound of his hips jerking lightly, at another hard climax on his end. Her eyes open to his shut tightly, his expression tortured and sweet.

Her face surely lights up bright crimson, as she attempts to catch her breath again. She’s only taking what he’s giving her at this point and with firm hands on a strong masculine chest, she pushes up and away. He gasps, his fingers falling out of her hair and his wild eyes staring up at her, make her insides flex with feminine interest. She wants to feel him, touch him, and bite him all over. She wants to simply press her fingers into his shoulders, or his hips, just all of him.

She wants her hands pressing down on his most hidden places…she wants **all** of him.

Her attention is brought to the motion of his hips and as she’s looking back… he’s a mess all right. A hot mess. Her voice is as baffled as it is a bit shrill. “You came from just a kiss...?” his breath is in her ear, no words…only hot shame and a fog of sin in the sound. She’s close enough to dip her fingers into the water bucket and as she does so, he doesn’t appear to notice.

His hand is falling limply onto his pillow, his focus is derailed, and he’s caught in the aftermath of another high. She’s bringing a wet and cooling hand down onto his lower belly, hearing a sharp intake of realization. He’s very aware of what she wants to do now. She feels something almost hungry crawling through her mind, as she touches the sticky pleasure that’s covering his skin. Her fingertips ghost trails across sweat soaked skin, his belly jumping at her slightest presses.

She’s looking down at him, hearing him pant, when she brings her fingers off his sticky flesh. She’s taking up the forgotten dish rag again, reaching for it, swallowing thickly. His strangled whisper, full of alert edge. “… _haaaa_ …what are you doin’?...” She’s leaning back, the cloth still soaked, cold, and he’ll be thankful for it, she’s sure. Sure enough, as soon as she presses it to the side of his neck, his eyes flutter wider, before closing in shattered bliss.

Her fingers rubbing circles at his pulse point with the refreshing fabric. Her voice comes out all wrong, husky, lusty…dirty. “Cooling you off…” He groans in response, her hands shaking again, as she leans up on her knees, scoping him out. He’s covered in sweat and probably very uncomfortable, so with that in mind, she’s reaching over towards the water bucket with her other hand. She cups a handful of water, her eyes devouring the sight of him.

Butch is beautiful, in a fucking hurts-too-good kind of way. His lips were soft and kissed red. His tongue sweet and his expression, has her eyes locked on it. Under her hands, his skin is an artful contrast to hers. Hers is much lighter and his is darker, flushed red with a blush that speaks to the fire in his bones.

Her fingers are splayed out, pressing the wash rag to his pounding heart, both of her knees against the side of his hip. She’s lost in the moment. His posture is open, trusting her without a fight and she’s losing it, over how warm his skin is. She’s bringing the water below his chest and trickling a generous amount of it, onto his trembling belly.

His eyes fly open, his voice raspy, and his fingers now clutching at the side of his pillow lightly. “- **Son of a bitch-“** His body arcs towards her then and as she brings the cloth down, she’s leaning down, catching the sound of his voice with her mouth. His groan leaves a tingling across her senses that strikes from her head to her toes. His fingers are tangled in her hair without a pause and her heart’s fluttering, because the way his stomach flexes? He’s shuddering under her touch again.

She can’t take much more.

She’s taking care of him the best she can. Her head’s swimming and with both her hands now exploring him, it just happens naturally. She’s reaching between his thighs, the cloth in her fingers. She goes to kiss him, his whimper getting caught in her mouth, as her hand stops just short of his pubic mound. She feels him tense up for moment, frozen… and she feels a prick of nervous fear, that maybe he wants her to stop?

She pulls back…only for him to groan with protest, when he leans up and begs her for another kiss, by simply taking one from her. His tongue’s licking her bottom and her heart’s slamming against her ribs, because he is **not** telling her to stop. When she kisses him hotly enough, for his head to hit the pillow again heavily, her clothes start to feel too tight. Her mind gone, she finally drags her palm over him gently…her voice leaves her in a wild, soft cry and she’s feeling her knees buckle, over his obvious reaction. Like a spring being coiled tightly, she feels him snap up his hips and his hands press her mouth against his roughly, by the back of her head.

His mouth presses urgently, his tongue laps at her frayed sanity, and his hips roll up into her hand helplessly.

…but he sure as hell isn’t helpless. His kiss is demanding and his fingers have her trapped firmly. She goes to pull away, only to have him follow again and again. She feels his cock throbbing and… it’s like wires squeezing her heart, at the feel of it. The feel of him.

She wants to look at where her hands are then.

Her other palm’s curved around his hip, as she’s petting the swollen flesh between his thighs. With only the thought to make him fall apart in her mind, she’s forgotten everything else. The water’s only barely helped to cool his skin, but her touch, just seems to have him overheating again. Abruptly, his mouth is breaking the kissing off and his breath is harsh against her own.

 He leans his head back crying out, as his eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones.

Her heart melts over…that…face. -and whatever’s left of it, her tender heart, seems to drip down into her belly. She wants to cement that tortured look into her mind, because it’s…so _sweet_. His honeyed rushing of pleasured words, has her wet and wanting, his fingers dragging up into her hair, sending shivers down her spine at the tender drag of his fingernails. “… _…oh…fuck- **FUCK Angie!**_ ” Her heart thumps faster, when she feels warmth spilling over her hand. She’s lost her mind.

She doesn’t care.

There’s an intimacy they’ve never had before, that has her leaning down to kiss his throat. She wants him so bad, her insides are aching. She came into his bedroom, with the thought to help him, but it’s clear that she’s caught his fever. It feels so good to touch him. It’s so good.

She licks his flesh, his skin warm on her tongue. Her teeth are dragging lightly against his pulse and his hands are still pulling her closer. She pumps her wrist in time to the way his hips are rolling and it’s painfully sexy, that she moans against his skin. Her other hand is using his hip as an anchor, her fingers pressing and admiring the curve of it. He’s got an ass to him, that she wants to grab and it strikes her silly…that she might not be herself right then.

She wants to give him a hickey more than anything, leave a mark for him to see tomorrow. The feeling, possessive and wild in her brain. It’s as if she wants the world to know, who he belongs to- that he came undone just for her. She can’t stop, can’t think and can only _enjoy_ him. Till she’s jolted by a deep growl…that she recognizes… is **Butch’s** unraveled growl. “…Don’t stop…”

Her eyes flutter open. Her heart hammering with… she’s doesn’t know what this feeling is. It’s not fear…but it’s sharp in her chest. She’s pulling back, overcome with the desire to just…see his face. Though as she pulls back huffing, her gaze looks across the pretty column of his neck and she can’t…look him in the eyes just yet.

Her love bites now dusted across his skin. Light and not too dark, yet clearly love bites. Her heart swells at the sight of them and her eyes find his face. That sharp feeling of…what she can’t place, stabs like a white hot jab of adrenaline at the look in his eyes. Her thighs squeeze together, because she’s well past aching for him now.

She wants to watch him forever, just like this…but maybe that’s just because she can’t move all of a sudden.

The smell of the pheromones are getting to her…but he doesn’t want to stop, so what’s wrong with…not? She doesn’t either…she doesn’t want to stop. She’s dragging the wash cloth up and off of him. Though he’s already cum twice, he’s still hard and heavy. His body shivers as she does it, the sound he makes animalistic in nature. She breaks eye contact, because she’s sure her face goes red at his… his voice had her soaking through her panties.

Just his voice. She’s tossing the cloth that he’s soaked with his seed and sweat, somewhere off in the distance. She’s shuddering, because that sharp feeling… really _is_ fear. She’s losing herself. She’s got to get away.

She’s disentangling his fingers from her hair…and then she’s off his bed entirely. The look on his face as she stands…he looks afraid too. She should just leave and run, before it goes any farther. She shouldn’t have come in… she shouldn’t have- she’s turned to leave, but she feels his fingers reached out and curl weakly around her wrist. When she looks back at him again…oh what a mistake.

His voice is shaking, like he can’t believe what she just did to him. “…mph…d-don’t go…” She shouldn’t have looked back. Her heart’s thundering and knocking so hard inside of her, she can barely stand. All it takes…is for him to give her that look and beg her stay…to make leaving the last thing she’s going to do. She swallows thickly…making up her mind.

With her free hand and without a hint of reluctance, she’s unbuttoning the top button on her jeans. His eyes dart down from her face to her pants. She’s…sliding her wrist out of his grasp and fixing it on her zipper. She can regret it later if he does too later, but she doesn’t…not right then. She knows she’ll regret it more, if she leaves without being with him once.

Her voice is as lust filled as it is sweet for him. “…I won’t…I’m not…’m gonna…” she’s huffing and out of breath herself. She watches him leaning up on his elbows, his entire body shaking from exhaustion. When his eyes catch the sight of her shoving off her boots and tugging off her pants, oh the look he gives her. He wants it- her.

His voice is hot gravel. “…Oh fuck…fuck- you don’t…don’t h-have to…” She wants to. He seems more lucid now anyway…as if he can talk better. Almost as if the only way to help his… his problem, is to deal with hers now too. He’s her problem alright…her everything really.

He's all she’s got.

She’s slipping her jeans and panties off in one motion. Her voice all kinds of weak on her too. “I want to…and you look like you… Butch, I think I caught the fever from you-…-god I want to sit on that…” She cuts herself off without even thinking of the words coming out of her mouth, her eyes stuck on…what she _wants to sit on_. Her vulgarity catches them both off guard. Blushing with shame her eyes fly back to his face and he’s not laughing.

What he says is so dark and stained with heat, he steals the breath out of her lungs. “ ** _Come and fuckin’ sit on it then_**.” That…that’s not Butch talking. It’s the ants. She remembers a phrase that makes her lips crack into a flash of a nervous smile, her laugh husky, and the words are appropriate. “-Fuckin’ Ants…” She knows she has, somewhere in the more stable part of her brain, inhaled the musk and been infected by it. She felt the fog taking over, the moment she walked in and smelled the sweetness, actually.

His kiss was drenched in the sweet taste of it lingering on his mouth.

She denied it too…mostly, because she didn’t **want** to leave him alone. His eyes go wide for a moment, almost innocent in a way, which she thinks is just her sight going bad. His brow scrunching up with desperation…wild and out of control. Her eyes are all over his frame, muscle and warmth, his expression turning into something needy. He didn’t expect to say something like that to her either, by the look on his face and the words that come after. “…the hell’s _wrong_ with me… _mmph…_ **fuck** …”

Her voice makes his cock throb and her words excite him. “Not a damn thing.”

She’s pulling her shirt over her head clumsily soon after that. She’d _liked_ it when he talked dirty… more than she expected, but today wasn’t really a day for the **expected.** When she hears the bedsprings creak, before she’s even got it over her head, she feels his hands on her. He’s found the strength to sit up on the edge of his mattress. Without warning, she feels his breath intimately, in a sigh on her bare belly and knows, that he’s got her at his mercy.

She’s sighing hotly, when his shaking palms curl around her hips, his touch… unsure, yet almost…worshipful. She’s looking down at him and he’s looking up at her, with eyes darkened with attraction. They’re wide with disbelief. The moment is… sweltering. Her hands are on his broad shoulders and her breasts are almost eye level with him.

Her white cotton bra’s the last thing to go.

She’s between his legs and his bare thighs are brushing her knees. Every little shiver and huff of his hot breath on her skin, leaving her weak. She swallows hard and his voice is shaking, just as badly as the rest of him. “...’s ok if…fuck- ** _Can I?_** ” She feels his hands roving down, down…and around to grab her ass shamelessly. Her lips part with a whimper and she’s almost questioning, if he’s asking her or himself.

Her inner thighs are so slick, she doesn’t need foreplay- she knows she doesn’t. Anything less, than him being buried inside her, is killing her with every passing second. He breaks eye contact with her, as she knocks his legs together. Her words fail her, as his fingers curl under her ass and his breath shivers out over her belly. Her movement, sure in its goal.

His mouth begins sucking at her hipbone and his fingers press intimately close to her aching sex, unthinkingly.

The smell of heady spiced peaches and sweet nectar, clouds her mind, just as heatedly as his touch.

The closeness of his fingertips is driving her crazy. Ticklish against the sensitive places that he’s gripping. Without even asking her permission, he bites her hip with primal fire and there’s only growls or sighs between them, no words. Then he licks a soothing line across where his teeth dragged before. His tongue’s dragging her voice out of her then, licking at where his teeth are teasing, over and over in alternating patterns over her belly and hips. “… _yes…_ ’

It’s all he needed from her, her surrender, for his desperation take control. The only warning she gets, is a male whimper and his strong pawing at her backside, before he’s pulling her down onto his lap. She gasps as she’s caught against him and he’s lifting her up effortlessly. Manhandling her, as he gets to his feet, just long enough, to sit her in his lap in the middle of his mattress. Her hands grasp his shoulders for balance, his naked skin against hers boiling her brains.

Butch is **strong**.

She already knew that about him but…it just seemed to strike her silly right then. He really was bigger, taller and stronger than her…he’d just rarely used his full strength with her lately. He was gentler out her than in the vault with her. Her knees are on either side of his hips and his big, wandering hands are squeezing, touching, _everywhere_ that he can get to. She’s never seen or felt this side of him and it warms her from the inside out.

Without a plan of action or purpose, he touches her blindly. She gets the feeling that he’s… got no idea what he’s doing. That he’s so high off of her stolen jam, he just simply can’t bring himself to stop. It’s pure instinct driving him and he’s got **damn** good instinct. She wonders if she’d have felt that way if it were anyone else though.

She thinks maybe it’s so good, because it’s _Butch_ who’s suddenly weak all over and begging for her.

He’s got his tongue against her neck, licking hotly and his fingers are spreading her wide from behind, caressing her backside with mindless appreciation. His hands are rough…causing friction and leaving her without the ability to focus. He’s rough and yet, the way his hands start crawling up her lower back, is incredibly gentle. Her insides clench and melt, whenever he groans or whimpers frantically…which is often. Her fingers find his hair, while his tickle at her ribs. His hands finally coming around to her front and without faltering, he’s gingerly slipping them under her bra and covering her breasts with the heat of his palms.

The heat of his hands has her whimpering and him producing a sound, that’s as endearing as it is dirty. His name leaves her mouth in a whispering rattle. “… _Butch_ …” He gasps against her neck and that’s all she gets, before he literally rips the fabric between the cups. His impatience showing bluntly and wildly. Her mind foggy, but her outrage is still underlying her… oddly impressed tone. “Butch!”

At the sound of his name, he sighs. “…yeah… _oh_ that’s good… _yeah_ …” She feels his nose brushing her jaw. He takes a pause, which has her feeling the air like electricity on her every nerve. When she hears his voice, she recognizes then, just how lost inside his own pleasure he really is. “…keep- keep doing that…s-sayin’ my name…i-it’s fuckin **hot** …” He’s so blunt it almost makes her want to laugh…till her gives her breasts a firm squeeze.

Clumsy, rough, and too honest… _way_ too honest with her so suddenly.

She arches against him, into his hands in response. Then she feels him leaning away… and she finds herself faced to face with an animal in man’s skin. The urgency in him is still there, but it slows unbearably, when he stills there…just staring at her breasts like he’s never seen them before. It’s highly… uncomfortable to be under such a deep stare. She’s watching him, unable to not search his face.

She’s got no idea what he’s thinking, but his hands are doing all the talking for him. He pushes them up almost funnily, making her cleavage stand out. She’s aware at that moment that he’s _playing_ with them. She’s caught there, unable to even think or speak…just feeling oddly adored by him. Then… with a slow tilt of his mouth, he’s sharing breath with her.

His face has this dreamy expression on it and she’s never, _ever_ seen him look this doe eyed at her. Just one press away from a soul shattering kiss, he’s brought everything to an almost abrupt stop. Desperation, is what she feels shaking in his hands, but boyish interest is what’s making him go so still. It was one thing for him to sweep her up into a whirlwind of touches and kisses, but now? He’s so close, that it’s hard to breathe.

She watches his lips tremble, his eyes saying… such pretty wordless things. He looks conflicted and his mouth is moving like he’s trying too hard to say…she’s not sure what. So, she saves him the trouble and herself, diffusing the suffocating lack of speed, which he’s got her panicking over. Her hands cup his jaw, thumbing tender circles into his skin. She hadn’t even been thinking as she said it, but it was so sweet in her mouth, it was easy. “…I love what you’re doing with your hands…”

His hands knead her chest roughly with a hot reaction.

His breath is jagged in his lungs and his voice makes her body shiver, when he breaks the quiet. “… _soft_ …”His thumbs flick both her nipples, almost curiously. Her heart leaping into his hands, as the room grows hotter, stuffier. His skin’s on fire and her hands wander down his neck, catching the way his heart is thumping rapidly.

Her fingernails graze down his shoulders lightly, experimenting with alternating pressure. Her hands move over his skin and betray her tenderness towards him. Inch by inch her palms move down the outside of his biceps, as she gages his reactions alongside her own. She drags her fingernails excruciatingly lightly down his arms and he surprises her with goosebumps. The way he breathlessly whimpers bringing attention to how…sensitive to her, he actually is.

When she places her hands over his, he reaches up for a kiss from her, like he’s drowning. His mouth feels at least 4 degrees hotter against hers and the way he kisses her is so soft, she’s wishing he’d move faster. With the urge to provoke him, she brushes her tongue gently against his bottom lip. The air feels thicker and her thoughts are jumbled into a messy aroused pile. He’s so…sexy when he gives into his own pleasure.

He’s not holding anything back. Not his voice or his curiosity, or the way he’s letting her see how _weak_ she’s making him feel. When she licks at his mouth again, he gasps hotly, turned on by it. She feels him mirroring her touches, returning her tender pressure, darting his tongue into her mouth, while his fingers push and pull at her chest.  The way he’s shivering and just…begging for her?

She’s getting off on it.

She’s trailing her fingers up his wrists, gripping them softly. She remembers a time when he would pin her to the vault walls and taunt her with his size. He’d grip her shoulders a little too tightly and sometimes his switchblade would flash in front of her face. She’d learned to be faster than him and he’d left bruises on her skin, every now and again. He used to be…admittedly intimidating when they were younger.

Right now, he’s anything but.

Her fingers lose their grip on his wrists, his thumbs tracing both her nipples, reacting to her touch. The brush is gentle and affectionate, matching the way he’s returning her kiss. Her hands follow up his forearm, over his elbows…and then she’s found his ribs. He gives her a sharp breath, when her fingers fall lower. His hands cover her breasts completely, pressing and kneading, in response to her counting each rib attentively.

Her mind goes blank, when a sudden sensation completely overwhelms her. He pinches the peaks of chest between his fingers, sending sparks between them both. She’s pulling back for his mouth, at the jolt of pleasure. She cries out with female approval, in a way she’s never before and he watches her, his eyes completely invested in only her.  Her eyes flutter open, to find him lost in the discovery he’s just made, his voice rough. “ ** _-oh…_ fuck _…“_**

Her breath leaves her all wrong, matching his pitchy, cracking statement. She feels like her stomach is dropping out from under her, when he figures out just how to make her… cry out again. She’s sure that this is… different. This feels a lot less like him trying desperately to alleviate a chemical lust… and more like he’s trying to figure her body out. She’s knocked off guard by him, when he tugs a little harder… _just right_.

She’s biting her lip, embarrassed at herself for keening again, suddenly remember her sense of reason, for a brief moment. His eyes flicker obviously from her naked breasts to her undone face, not even trying to hide his leering. His voice wavers hotly and the fact that it sounds more like an honest question, than anything else, twists her heart into knots for him. “…you like that?” He’s panting like he’s too hot to breathe and she spontaneously makes a small stuttered gasp. He sounds a hell of a lot more lucid than before.

She loves him so much it hurts.

Her own hands are shaking on his ribs, her only anchor to reality, being how it feels to feel him breathing. His ribs rise and fall beneath her hands with a kind of hypnotically slow rhythm. She catches her breath and instead of words, she answers him with another gentle kiss. When she drags one of her palms, down the admittedly defined steel of his belly, she knows what else she wants to say to him. In one sly and quick move, she’s reaching between them and touching what’s been hard, throbbing and thick for her.

His mouth falls open and she’s pulling back, wanting to look at his face.

She takes him into her hand and he falls apart, faster than she can even do more, than simply curl her fingers around the girth of him.  He has NEVER made a sound quite like it before… it does things to her insides, which oddly leave her wanting to cry hot, emotional tears. It’s just so…much more intimate like this- when he’s suddenly all over the place, because of her. Feeling her toes curling toward his thighs, her knees still on either side of his hips, she feels his thighs tighten under her weight. His eyes shut abruptly at the first stroke of her palm and she knows it before he does, she’s fairly certain.

He’s sobbing and cursing, his hands leaving her chest and dragging up to her shoulders. “ **-damn it** - _Ahsst…_ ” His voice leaves her with pleasant shivers down her spine. His fingers are pressing a little too tightly into her normally tense shoulders, as he buckles over her, his forehead resting on the crook of her neck. Whining at her with helpless frustration. “…you’re gonna…make me… _Angie…_ ” She already knows what he’s going to do and she **wants** him to.

Once, twice, she pumps his flesh and that’s all it takes. She feels hot wetness spill over her fingers and he’s so… _loud_. His voice is thick through his bedroom, a string of mild curses and gravelly groans. “ **Oh** shit… _fuuuuck_ - **sss… _ah_** …awe, you…” Her body reacts to his voice, to his pleasure, by sending a warmth of desire pulsing between her legs. He’s cutting himself off with a tired and drawn out groan, his words so sweet, she wants to… she won’t be satisfied until he’s joined to her, hips to hips. “…I…fuckin’ _love_ you…oh my god, you’re so…oh, fuck- …I just love you…”

Her heart leaps into her throat, because the tone of his voice in uncharacteristically sweet. She’s sure it’s just because of how he’s feeling in the moment, but it’s… she knows there’s truth to it. His confession is strangely innocent…and before he can say another word, she’s decided that she can’t take anymore. She still feels him, hard and enduringly ready for her in her fingers. She’s rising up on her knees a bit, feeling his hands let up on her shoulders…and then she whispers in again, because of the moment…and because it’s just so damn true. “…I love you more.”

She’s positioning him between her thighs, using one of his shoulders to steady herself and then…she sinks down without hinting that she’s going to. Unlike before, the sound he makes is deep and rich…startled almost.  It all happens at once, so slow and yet so far. Enveloping him, with silk, heat, and it’s so smooth and she’s so… _wet_ for him, that it’s clearly the aphrodisiac working its magic. Her thighs are shaking and he’s so thick, that she’s unable to contain herself.

She’s moaning from the sensation of his…he’s throbbing against her noticeably and it’s agonizing. She feels his hands drag over her breasts again, like it’s all he knows how to do, while hunched and shaking against her body. By all reason, he should be finished, but she knew what she was getting into, the moment she saw the jar. The kind of stuffy, unrushed atmosphere previously swarming his bedroom …has started to become, like the room’s being steadily filled with flammable air.

Every little bit of him she takes in and she feels herself growing hazy. Ragged and smoldering, his hands smooth over her breasts and around her shoulders, giving her the impression that he’s lost his ability to think. It’s mind-blowing. His hands press down shakily…off her breasts and down her ribs, leaving goosebumps.

 His large hands swallow her sides with his warmth. She’s got the head of him in so easily, she’s almost surprised. She didn’t need foreplay…no more or she’d lose her mind. His fingers tighten and then ease up on her waist and his voice cracks against her throat. “-s-sweet holy hell-“ His breath far faster than before, his belly rising up against hers with his every deep and forced intake of air.

Her careless eagerness, is the match that sets the place into a roaring bonfire. His hands leisurely falling to her hips, follows suit of his cracking voice, “ _-Haa **GOD**_ … ** _mn-_** “ it would almost be comical, if not for the growl he let sink into him at the tail end. No words after that…only sound.

He’s got both his hands on her hips, cradling them sweetly. One moment she’s slowly doing whatever she please and then… he knocks her senseless. His teeth drag almost dominatingly against her shoulder and his pleasured groan strikes against her insides, before he snaps. She’s so shocked by the swift penetration, she practically screams. There’s no pain…only **immense** and **heavy** pressure.

Pushing her all the way down without warning, his hips buck up almost on their own. Her voice leaves her like a lightning bolt cracking across a silent sky. She’s seeing stars, when his teeth are no longer pressing into her skin. She feels his heartbeat, literally pulsing in his cock. The sound of his voice, panicked for her, scared out of his wits. “… _o-oh fuck-_ ‘m sorry- **sorry** …’m _ssss-sorry_ …mm **, god-“**

She’s huffing harshly and unable to give him more than a strained, “ **Deloria~** ” without losing her grip on his shoulders. His whole body’s quaking under her and for good reason, because she’s _never_ experienced anything this intense. He’s talking so halted and wild, she can barely believe he can even still talk at all. “- fuck-fuck _…_ I-I never…” He’s growling, exhausted but also incredibly frustrated. Before she can assure him that she’s fine and that he should keep going…he melts her heart.

His voice is so soft and vulnerable, she wants to somehow pull him even closer than he already is. “…I…I never done-hn _…ss-_ **this** _…_ before ** _…_** ”

He’s so deep, that his hips are touching hers…but there’s not a single lick of pain. Just perfect…pressure, that’s crushing her brain and leaving her clutching at him. He’s never done this before? She can’t even fathom how he’s staying still, when all she wants him to do is… _move_. How could he just come out and say…it’s not like him **at all**.

 The moment is…she’s overwhelmed by him. The only way she can express how much she wants him…is in tattered sentences. “ **-Butch- _oh_** …oh god …” The confession he laid bare, clicks…her heart swells and dips, just like the man currently inside her does. His thighs flex under hers and she feels him…pulsing inside of her. It’s so…hot.

She’s bringing both of her hands into his messy, dark hair and enjoying the softness. She wants to let him know, that whatever he gives her, she can take. So whispers it, her heart’s desires into his hair… honest and soft. “ **Don’t stop…** ” She hears him take a deep breath, like it’s the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard then….he makes her see stars.

…Butch is **thick**.

It must be the pheromones, because she forgets to care about being quiet. When he pulls her up by her hips and then bucks up, it’s rough and uncontained. His body fits her so well…and she takes him so easily, it’s shocking. She hasn’t been with anyone in a long time… but he _fits_ alright. His voice shakes and so does the rest of him…but he’s still got the strength to once again, pull out of her.

She’s never felt this out of control with him before. He hits up again and this time the angle is just right for her. She practically screams, her toes digging into his thighs and pleasure that feels like plasma’s being spread through her veins. His self-control is frayed beyond repair, to the point where he barely allows himself to stop to see if she’s alright.

He takes a harsh breath, which fills the air and her ears with static. His hands are…possessive. He holds her there, her hands clutching him to her breast, and his voice little more than crackling embers. “- **W-what?** …Too deep?” Her hips rock against him and he grunts, feeling it with clear intensity. She’s sighing like her lungs are burning and leaning back.

Her hands fall out of his hair and down his neck, as her eyes meet his. She shakes her head at him, trying not to think about how serious his face looks, looking down at him from this angle. Tilting her mouth closer to his, she watches his lips part hungrily, expecting her to come closer. He’s listening to her so hard, she’s almost a little thrown off by it. “No… _do it again…_ ” They share a very intent exchange of silent emotion.

Before he huffs at her and kisses her like he’s done **that** many times before.

It’s a bit of a haze after that.

She remembers his hands migrating down to lift her ass up and before she could blink, his hips started rolling. Over and over, flesh met flesh and the fire grew hotter. Inch by inch he slide out and then smoothly back into home, very shortly after which…he came again. Only this time it was deep inside her body. She barely gave thought to the precautions against what could happen afterwards, because of it.

She’s not sure when she landed on her back; or when he was satisfied enough to start making her cum right beside him, without feeling the need to himself anymore…but it was ingrained in her mind. At one point, he had her wrists pinned over her head and he was practically _rutting_ with her. His eyes burned and her heart spilled out of her mouth in the form of encouragement and his name. Part of it was all them, but the rest was certainly **the fuckin ants**. At least Butch didn’t have to suffer alone.

At least she didn’t regret it.

 

…hours.

It had taken them hours…but finally.

It was over.

They both fell asleep around the same time, him gracelessly collapsing beside her.

He’s not really sure when it was, that they actually passed out…he just knew that it was dark outside now and it wasn’t before.

He turns to his side and feels his sheets sticking to his bare back. His face crinkles up in minor disgust, his whole body sore and his mind in a fog. Though, when he sees her there… naked, sweaty and sprawled on her back, it all comes rushing back. Thankfully, that shit’s not literal this time. He… he can’t believe he still thinks she’s beautiful after doing what they had for…it was too long.

After what was probably an inhuman amount of… he feels his face get hot. He remembers bits and pieces of sappy stuff he said during and… he can’t believe she just let him. He feels weird about her being there, now that his head was clear and there wasn’t anything clouding his judgment. He wants to rest his hand on her stomach just because he can…wait can he? His mind gets a flash to hours before.

 _‘_ - ** _Can I?_** ’

He grits his teeth and turns on his stomach, hiding his face in his pillow. There weren’t any secrets between them **now**. Not after this. She liked it right? …She wanted to be here right?

He hears her stirring beside him, but he’s too weak to look at her. Her voice is scratchy, as she stretches beside him. “…I know you’re awake.” The hell she does. He pretends not to hear her, just to be stubborn…and also because he’s not sure he can look her in the eyes. He thinks he’s won for a minute, till he feels the mattress shaking.

He goes ridged, when she straddles his lower back. All woman and all _naked_. She’s still… _wet_. He’s not sure how to deal with that fact that it’s **his** fault. All of this.

He’s very still, because maybe she’ll still think he’s asleep. …Hands splay out across his shoulders and he…really kind of likes her weight on him. He feels her hair tickling his ears and her voice is husky in his ear… leaving him feeling dizzy. “…do you regret it?” He couldn’t fake sleep after a loaded question like that…so he turns his head against his pillow and sighs. Did he?

His answer is pretty quick, but quiet. “…nah.” She’s humming, acknowledging him. Her breasts are on his back…how the hell is this so easy for her? Her next question threatens to give him heatstroke. “Do you love me, Deloria?” He’s got the answer spinning around in his head and yet, it’s hard to get out.

It’s better not having to look directly at her, but still. His voice sounds really fucked up and raspy. “…do I, Pipsqueak?” Her voice is full of playfulness, as her thumbs press _deliciously_ into his sore shoulders. “… _awe_ …you really are funny…is that how you’re gonna be? After all this?” He could ask her what she means, but _her thumbs_. He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud. “…Ooooh…that’s nice…”

She has to comment. Has to be a Smart Mouth. “…still got ants in your pants, Butch?” He freezes. She’s fuckin’ mean… and she teases him about it so easily, it’s not fair. “Or are you just happy to see me?” He’s fighting to turn over onto his back and her…he can’t be angry, because her laughter sounds like bells.

Pretty, girly, tinkling…her nipples are pink.

He’s on his back and he planned to bark something rude, but not anymore. Moon’s out and its full…coming in through his window. …and there she is. Smiling down at him naked. He says it without really thinking again, his arms throw up over his head, windswept by her looking so…cute. “…damn, you got nice tits…”

His eyes being locked on them, she snorts funnily. “Asshole.” She swats him weakly on the chest and if he wasn’t so totally sexed-out, he might be aware of her thighs around his hips again. As it was…she just looked really pretty up there. He feels himself blushing and he tries to cover it with a yawn. He turns his head into his pillow and stretches his arms higher over him, yawning tiredly.

She’s quiet. Staring down at him with an expression he can’t read. He turns his face back to her and lets his eyes wander her body. He looks off to the right, staring at the wall as he asks her, “…what? …do you regret it?” He feels her weight shift on top of him, feeling her lean back a little on his stomach.

She takes so long to answer, he looks back at her again. Her face is… she’s got this soft look. She’s looking him dead on when she answers. “…how could I?” He feels a little uncomfortable…shy, might be the word he’d use, if he _really_ didn’t want to use it. So he didn’t use it.

He musters all the energy in him to get it over with. It’s not like he hadn’t felt this way for… since they were 7 and 8 years old. He’s too tempted not to put a hand on one of her thighs, so he does…blurting it out in a rushed mumble. “Then…then yeah… I love you…” Her eyebrows raise in… it’s not surprise. What the hell is that look she’s giving him?

He wants to look away. Before he can though, she’s coming closer…and closer…and then she’s kissing him. Before it was good, but now? Now he was all there and she was too. Her kiss was by choice and it was… sweeter than his happy, sappy heart could take.

She breaks away and he’s still reeling, when she whispers it against his mouth, her fingers tenderly brushing through his hair. “…hm…” She’s climbing off him lazily then…and walking out of his bedroom. He blinks when she’s got her feet on the floor and once again, lets his mouth run off before his brain. “W-What?! Aren’t you gonna say it back?” She’s at his door, already leaning on the frame and with this coy…shark like smile, she nails him. “I’d love a shower…” He stares there dumbly and he’s about ready to let his temper fly off the handle…but then she does…this little stretch- just looking right at him.

She’s teasing him and he’s taking the bait, her voice still raspy…from shouting his name. “…and I’d love it if you’d join me.” He laughs. It’s so dumb that he laughs. She’s so pretty it hurts. He’s rolling out of bed and stalking up to her.

She wants to play games? Ok. Sure. He’s caught her around the waist and wiped that smile off her face, because he’s not laughing. Her hands feel so right on his chest and her waist’s really dainty in his arms…tone, but compared to him?

She’s small.

He’s not sure why he needs to hear, but he **needs** to. After what they’d done, it should be easier to just… lay his heart out for her, but it wasn’t. Still, with her trapped against him, it came out a lot more smoothly. “…Hey. I said, I love you, didn’t I?… c-come on…” It may have come out smoothly, but at the end he wanted to kick himself. He’d never felt so uncool compared to her, but maybe that’s because… today he gave a piece of his heart away to her, he didn’t even notice meant anything.

She’s swallowing hard and his heart flutters over zealously, when she finally gives it to him. “…-of course I love you, you Butthead! I…I wouldn’t do what I did…with anyone… it’s not like I couldn’t have walked away…I wanted to be with you…” She trails off and he’s thankful, that she looks just as rattled, as he feels. She’s tugging him along by the wrist down the hallway and his legs are trying to give out on him. Yeah ok…maybe it wasn’t just nerves making him a little overly needy. They were both sticky and tired and…

…he’s not really sure where they are…other than he’s sure he doesn’t want to spend his life anywhere else, than by her side.

She’s cold and she’s bossy. She’s too nice and she’s too good for him. She lets people take advantage of her and rarely lets him take the lead. …but he loved her and she- she’s letting him lean on her shoulders as they get to the door, whispering something really…dirty in his ear. “…and I _knew_ you’d never been with anyone….you big liar…” The Wasteland was a lonely, dangerous place.

It was filled with loss, super mutants, deathclaws, and…

…and fuckin’ ants.

 

** The End **

**Author's Note:**

> 9/21/2017: I like to edit these smaller stories as I post...because I'm impatient and like to pretend I'm finished, when I'm not. XD <3 ...corrected a few grammatical errors, but no huge changes.
> 
> 9/22/2017: Once again, just minor grammar corrections.


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